Let Me Love You
by Brookebynature
Summary: When Halstead ends up in a strip club for Ruzek's bachelor party, he meets Erin Lindsay, a beautiful (if not troubled) woman who seems to need his help. Unable to explain his desperate need to protect her from many things - including herself - he finds out that loving someone can be easy; getting them to accept that love? That's the hard part. Linstead COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Hi there. This is my first Chicago PD story and I've only seen three episodes of the show (waiting for the box sets for Christmas is practically killing me) but I've been reading some of the fics on here to keep me going until the 25th and this idea popped into my head courtesy of 'Wicked Games' by The Weeknd. (Don't ask me how I got this from that song...) Wanted to get it written and besides, I haven't seen many fics written from Jay's perspective. I never write in first person but I fancied a change.**

 **Be kind and review?**

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Let Me Love You

"Promise me no strip clubs."

I laugh and kiss her on the forehead. It's a bachelor party. It's _Ruzek's_ bachelor party. I'm pretty sure there'll be at least one strip club involved. "You have nothing to worry about."

"You're better than that," she returns, curling her nose up in disgust at Chicago's more sinful entertainment. I've been in plenty of these places over the past few years and she knows this - the city's shadier characters never tend to hang out in brightly-lit coffee shops, surprisingly enough - but we've been together nearly a year now and her warnings before guys' nights only seem to be becoming more prevalent.

"Lex, you're stressing."

"I just don't get why you have to leave me alone on a Friday night."

"It's not like I go out every Friday," I tell her, pulling my jacket off the hook by her front door. "Besides, it's not every day Ruzek gets married."

Lexi sighs dramatically and I fight the slight rise in anger I feel at her jealousy. I know this guy and he doesn't have the most discerning taste in drinking holes. Whatever club we end up in will no doubt be down some back alley filled with girls working on questionable visas. She really doesn't have _anything_ to be worried about.

"Isn't this like the third girl he's proposed to?"

Yes it is. But unlike the others, I think he actually loves Kim.

"I'm going now," I tell Lexi, who's pouting on her couch and refusing to kiss me. I shrug. She'll get over it tomorrow. "Have a good night."

I shut the door, having grown a little more irritated at her response - or lack of, and make my way down the stairs of her apartment building to my car which is parked out front. It's freezing outside and I pull the leather jacket around my chest, rubbing my hands to keep the numbness out of my fingers even though the car is literally across the street. The harshness of the cold in this city never fails to surprise me; it's almost as though each summer, the heat from the sun lulls me into a false sense of security which is then ripped away around late November, right after Thanksgiving.

I meet the guys at Molly's - our usual hangout after work - for a quick beer before the real drinking starts. I'm a little worried about the pace Ruzek is setting when I reach the table and he's three beers and as many shots down.

"I hope that wallet's filled with dollar bills Halstead," our bachelor shouts as I order a round from Gabriela at the bar."And you've practised the art of giving since last time."

His comment is met by a roar of laughter from the idiots I work with but I shake my head with a grin as Gabriela rolls her eyes.

"They're like three-year-olds," she laughs, setting what she already knows I want down in front of me.

"I'd say that's pretty generous. I was going for two-year-olds," I reply, handing her a couple twenties and not waiting for the change.

The _last time_ Ruzek is referring to is the last time we went to one of these clubs, which, coincidentally, was the _last time_ he got engaged. The guys all made fun of me because I didn't throw any money at the girls, calling me a tightass. It wasn't that at all. Perhaps it's old-fashioned, but throwing money at girls while they dance on stage in barely-there outfits, no doubt to pay their dodgy landlords or feed a heroin habit, isn't my idea of being a gentleman. My mom raised me right. Still, I've been in those places all the same. Maybe I'm just being a hypocrite.

We drink the beers pretty fast and head out into the cold city air. There doesn't seem to be a plan as such but the boss is insisting we go to this weird-looking Irish pub so we do. Nobody complains when he buys the round and we clink our glasses of whiskey together in a cheers to something or other I didn't catch. It's going to be a messy night.

My suspicions are confirmed when the karaoke starts up and Dawson and Atwater get up on stage to blunder their way through Livin' On A Prayer, complete with air guitar. Voight buys another round for us all and I nearly choke on the mouthful of beer I'm downing when he makes his way to the stage as though he's about to arrest someone for murder before he belts out a remarkably tuneful rendition of Sweet Caroline. This night is getting weirder.

X

By 1am, I can barely see straight. We're heading south and I know where the next place on our hitlist is: Bunny's. It's a pretty new strip club and we've never been here before. Or, at least, _I've_ never been here before. Something tells me Ruzek and Atwater might have though.

We make our way to the bar and I grow more uncomfortable as my shoes stick to the carpet and the speakers boom out a tinny version of 'Pour Some Sugar On Me'. I suspect it might have been illegally downloaded and put into a c.d as part of the stripper dance compilation.

It's my round and we all settle on beers in some sort of unspoken agreement that the whiskey will be pretty substandard. The woman behind the bar knocks the caps off of the Sam Adams bottles and holds her hand out before even telling me how much I owe. I pay the $30 and offer a smile I know won't be returned before joining the rest of my colleagues at the table they've set up camp at. It's only at this point that I glance up at the stage. Rusek has seated himself in the middle of the booth and is watching the girl in front of us dance a little off-time. Atwater is looking a little intrigued and even Dawson looks pretty happy. I cast my eyes across to Voight who looks like he's about to bust a blood vessel. Either he's drunk, uncomfortable or pissed at someone. I'd say there's a good chance it's a mix of all three but he's the boss and I keep my mouth shut.

The girl on stage dances a little awkwardly to a couple more songs and I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I know without looking it'll be Lexi. In order not to get the shit ripped out of me by the rest of the guys, I tell them I'm heading to the bathroom (not a total lie) and make my way to the back of the club, taking in the surroundings as I pass various groups cheering and laughing and generally looking like they're having a better time than I am in this place. I kind of feel guilty for being here - not towards Lexi, but towards women in general. When I think about being a kid and wanting nothing more than to be a soldier when I grew up, it makes me wonder what these girls dreamed of. Did they want to be ballet dancers or teachers or vets? Surely at elementary school, nobody dreams of doing...whatever this is. At what point in their lives did this become an option?

My phone vibrates again before I reach the bathrooms but I answer it anyway.

"Where are you?" Lexi practically screeches. I hold the phone further away from my ear and that's when I notice the missed calls icon on the screen. I've missed six.

I sigh and answer. "Lex, I'm out with the guys."

"You're in a strip club, aren't you?"

"We've just got here and all we've done is get a drink."

"You're slurring," she states. "And you're drunk."

Well, yeah. But not the kind of drunk where I don't know what I'm doing or the kind of drunk where I pass out in the bathroom. I tell her this in reference to one night she went out with her friends and I had to pick her up because she was so drunk she couldn't stand. She scoffs and I can tell I've pissed her off even more. I really don't want to fight though, and so I apologise and remind her again she has nothing to worry about.

"I just wanted to check you were okay," she replies, softer this time, and as much as I know that's probably not entirely true, I smile into the phone, even though she can't see it.

"You'll text me when you get home?"

"Of course."

"I love you Jay."

At that, I freeze. It's the first time she's said those words and I'm not sure how to respond. I just know I don't want to tell my girlfriend that I love her in some grotty bathroom of a strip club. Instead, I tell Lexi I'll see her tomorrow and then end the call, figuring I might as well pee while I'm here.

It's when I'm coming out of the bathroom that I kind of stumble over my own feet and end up colliding with someone. I reach out to steady her, looking to apologise but when she looks up at me, the words are lost.

"You okay?" she asks in this raspy sort-of-whisper and I find myself swallowing what feels like a large lump in my throat. I realise my hands are still holding her arms and immediately drop them to my sides.

"Uh yeah." My voice sounds foreign. "Are _you_ okay?"

"I'm fine."

She doesn't make any sort of move to continue on to her destination and I don't know what to say because for some inexplicable reason, she's making me nervous.

"So, you hiding out in the bathroom?"

"Uh, no."

She raises her eyebrows with a small smirk and damn it if she doesn't display the cutest set of dimples.

"Maybe," I add and she laughs a little. "These places make me kind of uncomfortable."

"Really?"

Those eyebrows are raised again and for some reason, I start to elaborate. "I kind of feel like the whole idea of a strip club is a violation of women."

"Well aren't you the feminist."

I'm not sure if she's making fun of me but she still doesn't make any attempt to leave and I feel decidedly less uncomfortable here than I do in front of that stage sitting next to my boss, watching practically naked girls dance.

"Don't you ever just wonder what happened for these girls to end up like this?" I ask her. I'm not sure why. "What did they want to be when they were younger?"

She shrugs and her eyes seem to sparkle with some emotion I can't discern.

"Yo Halstead!" Dawson's gruff voice interrupts and the girl in front of me offers a small smile, displaying those dimples again. I return it and she seems to disappear into thin air. "What are you doing hiding back here? You're missing a good show out there!"

The guy doesn't wait for an answer and I make my way back to the table as he enters the bathroom. Taking my seat next to Voight, I notice the boss seems to have calmed down a little - his face isn't quite so red and twisted into a grimace. Maybe I missed a good dance.

X

Voight and a few others leave by the time we're on our fourth beer inside Bunny's. Atwater's looking a little worse for wear and even Dawson looks like he needs his bed and a shower. Probably in that order.

I'm about to finish my drink and leave too because even though I'm not ridiculously drunk, I already know I'm gonna have the hangover from hell in the morning and I know Lexi isn't going to want to spend the weekend playing nurse. Just as I move to get up, I see the girl from earlier take the stage. I can feel my face forming a frown as I notice her outfit: sheer black blouse which is clearly displaying a lace bra underneath; black shorts and long black boots with lacing all the way from the ankle to the knee. She wasn't wearing that when I talked to her outside the bathroom. It's amazing what the eyes can take in in a couple seconds.

The music cranks up and it takes me a few seconds more to realise that Nine Inch Nails is playing over the sound system; it's harder to hear over the cheers which have grown louder as she makes her way to the pole with the most confident walk I've ever seen. She looks like she owns the stage.

I watch, enraptured as she starts her routine, draping her body around the scuffed metal pole before hooking a leg around it to hold herself in place as her hands begin unbuttoning her shirt. The cheers only increase and as much as I'm disgusted with myself, I want to stay and watch.

"Shit man!" I hear Roman, one of the younger guys gasp. "She's fucking hot!"

I want to hit him for some unknown reason, but I don't. I'm clenching my hand in a fist as she looks up and catches my eye. I know I'm staring and yet I do nothing to look away. She simply cocks a single eyebrow this time, curls one side of her lips up into an almost-smile and then turns her attention back to her blouse, shedding it in one fluid motion. By the time the chorus hits, I don't know what to think, or why I feel like _this_. What _this_ is, I'm not sure...but it's weird.

The song ends and she leaves the stage, disappearing through a door near the edge.

"I think Halstead just fell in love with the stripper," Ruzek laughs and I shoot him a glare. It doesn't work; he just laughs more and even Olinsky joins in. "You're salivating man."

"Fuck you," I return with a forced laugh, reaching for my jacket. "Guys, I'm out."

I watch Roman down his beer, looking like he might be about to pass out, and instruct the rest of the guys to make sure he gets home alright.

The air outside of the club is even more bitter than it was earlier and I blow into my hands as I scan each end of the alleyway for any sign of a cab. I decide to make my way along the way we came in but when I reach the end, the street's pretty dead. I decide to try the other end, passing the back of the club when I hear raised voices. Slowing to a stop, I listen for the direction they're coming from and figure it's somewhere out the back of Bunny's. I make my way towards the voices and that's when I spot her again: the girl from the club.

She's standing on some steps which look like they lead down from where she works, talking - or, more accurately, yelling - with some guy. I don't like the way he's looming over her and as he reaches to hit her, the cop in me takes over before I've realised what I'm doing.

"Get your hands off her!" I yell, sprinting towards them. The guy runs off and into the alley where I've just come from. I think about chasing him but the girl in front of me is rubbing her arm and besides, what the hell would I even do if I caught up with him?

"You okay?" I ask and she nods, suddenly shy. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she replies and before I can ask her anything else, the door behind her flies open, revealing the bartender from earlier who looks thoroughly pissed.

"What the hell's taking so long?" the older woman barks, suddenly realising I'm not who she expected to be there. "Who are you?"

"Jay. I just came to-"

"-Ask for directions," the girl cuts in, widening her eyes at me.

"For where?" the older woman barks again.

"Uh, anywhere I'm likely to get a cab." It's not strictly untrue.

"Try Uber," comes the unhelpful reply, before, "Where'd he go?" This, she's directing at her employee.

She just shrugs. "He said he couldn't do it."

"Then you'd better get back inside and earn some more," the older woman says before turning her attention to me. "You saw nothing."

I'm not sure what the hell I've seen but I know it's nothing good and I also know from the way the girl is holding her arm that she's hurt. Before I can say or do anything though, her employer - Bunny, I'm guessing - is barking again.

"Now, Erin."

She doesn't even look at me as she turns and follows the command, shutting the door behind her. I wait a few minutes in case she comes back out again but she doesn't and I figure that standing outside the back entrance of a seedy strip club at close to 3am probably isn't the smartest move. I decide to make my way back along the alley to the street, ordering an Uber as I go. The Prius arrives in minutes and takes me back to my building at the more-than-reasonable price of $14.64, and I tip the driver before searching my back pocket for my key.

Tiredness hits instantly as I close my apartment door behind me and flick off the lights in turn, barely removing my clothes before I fall into bed, pulling the covers up and over my chest. Inexplicably, my mind settles on an image from earlier in the evening - Erin (assuming that's her real name - you can never quite tell) outside of the bathroom, raising her eyebrows and showing off her dimples. The image then flickers to her up on the stage before a flash of her outside of the club with that guy takes over and I drift off, wondering whether she really will be okay. Somehow, I doubt it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Wow! Thanks for the positive response last chapter. Your reviews were so kind :) Enjoy x**

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The smell of coffee brewing in my kitchen is doing little to wake me, even though it's already 10:30 and sunny outside. It's the kind of harsh winter brightness, heightened further by the blanket of snow lying outside (that I've shut my blinds against so my retinas won't be shot to hell) that makes me want to crawl back into bed and pretend like I'm never going to drink again. I search my kitchen drawers for any kind of pain killers but find none so have to traipse to the bathroom in the hope that the cabinet above the sink has a stash that has miraculously appeared since the previous night. Needless to say, my search comes up fruitless and I find that the walk has only made my headache worse. No surprises there then.

After what seems like hours, the coffee machine finally stops dripping and I pour a healthy dose into the mug I only use on such special occasions like hangovers and breakups. I'm just adding sugar when my ears are assaulted by the world's most obnoxious knocking at my apartment door. There are two options concerning who could be at the other side. It's either Voight or Lexi, and considering the former pretty much drunk his body weight in whiskey last night, I'm guessing my girlfriend is standing out in the hall.

I make my way over, wincing as the movement sends a hammer blow to my head with every step, and slide the chain off. Sure enough, Lexi is there with a semi-concerned expression on her face.

"You didn't answer your phone," is what she tells me as she brushes past, a whiff of sausage following her. She dumps a bag on the kitchen counter. "I got you this in case, despite not answering my texts or calls, you _were_ in fact still alive and needed food to soak up the brewery you consumed last night."

I'd kiss her for the thought but I know she won't let me; she has a rule about no kissing until both of us have brushed our teeth, flossed and rinsed with mouthwash. Since I met her, my pearly whites have never been in better condition.

"Thanks," I reply instead and take a look inside the bag. A sausage and egg mcmuffin. Not my favourite, in fact, far from it, but I pick it up gratefully before taking a bite and wishing I hadn't. Turns out my stomach isn't ready for anything other than liquid and I have to take several deep breaths so I don't throw up all over my kitchen floor. Lexi is looking at me like a disappointed parent and I figure I may as well have vomited.

"We were supposed to be going tree shopping."

"We were?" I don't remember agreeing to this plan but it sounds like something I would have done. Groaning inwardly, I put the mcmuffin bag inside the bag and pick up my coffee instead, taking a large gulp. It burns my throat in the best way and I rest against the counter.

"You said you'd help me pick out a tree for my apartment. I can't carry it by myself."

I'm pretty sure _I_ can't carry it either. "We could always go tomorrow?"

From her expression, I can tell she's not going to agree and so silently resign myself to fighting my way through crowds of crazed shoppers looking for the perfect spruce. Without any warning, I wonder whether the girl from last night will be buying a tree this weekend. By the time I'm settling on the verdict of almost definitely not, I realise my face has turned itself into a frown at my brain's sudden change of focus. I'm brought back into my present by Lexi's sigh and I force a smile. The movement wrinkles my forehead and my head hurts again.

"Just give me a half hour to get a shower and change."

She smiles, kissing me on my cheek, and when she pulls away, my brain is - for some inexplicable reason - telling me that I see no dimples. I shrug it off, finish my coffee while Lexi seats herself on my couch, flipping on the Food Network, and make my way to the bathroom as Ina Garten starts talking about Provencal tomatoes.

X

The outside world is as horrific as I'd imagined it would be; my senses are being battered from all directions as we trudge through the crowds of holiday shoppers. In my years working as a cop in this city, I've come to associate Christmas with the chance to catch up on paperwork. Homicides are significantly less during the coldest months of the year. Crazy really, that the weather does more in preventing deaths than we do sometimes.

"What about this one?" Lexi asks, referring to a tree at least eight feet tall.

"It might be a little tall for your apartment," I tell her. What I really mean is that there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to cart that thing ten blocks.

"What about your apartment?"

"It'll be too tall for mine too."

"Well…" she seems to pause for a moment, turning her attention from the tree to me. "What if we shared a tree?"

I stamp the cold out of my feet and wince when the motion sends a sledgehammer blow to my head. "Where would we put it? Halfway between our buildings?" I laugh but really, it's a little forced because I just want to go home, turn all the lights off and mourn the time when I didn't have the world's worst hangover.

"Well what if we put it in my living room and you moved in?" she replies. "And then we could share it."

Shit. We're really going to have this conversation right here, surrounded by six-dozen Norwegian Spruces and a Puerto-Rican man wearing a questionable santa suit?

"Move in?" I manage to say. Pretty sure I look like a rabbit in headlights. "I...I just…" God, I'm really not doing a good job of this. "I didn't realise we were in that place."

It's a lame response and I kind of hate myself for it. I've just never even thought about us living together.

"The kind of place where we love each other?"

Right. She said she loved me last night. Right before I was talking to Erin. In the strip club she works at. I force my brain back on track just in time to catch Lexi's next question. "You _do_ love me, don't you?"

"Of course."

She looks even less convinced of my response than I feel. It's not that I _don't_ love her, it's that I never thought about it I guess. Turns out there's a lot of things I don't think about that maybe I should.

"Say it."

"What?"

"Say you love me," she challenges, stepping slightly to the left as a family of four excuse themselves around us and begin admiring the tree that a few minutes ago, my girlfriend was suggesting we share. In her apartment.

"This is ridiculous," I say, torn between just saying the words (because at least then we can go back inside and I might get some feeling back in my fingers) or admitting everything I'm _really_ feeling which will no doubt result in an even worse headache. "Can we just choose a tree and go?"

"Let's just go," she snaps and I instantly feel a surge of guilt. "Sorry I forced you to come down here."

"Lex wait," I say, grabbing her arm to stop her. She turns and I realise her weight wasn't even on her front foot; she knew I'd stop her. I make my mind up there and then: I like her; she's pretty hot; I can have intelligent conversations with her about politics and human rights issues; but I don't love her. "I'm sorry."

Her expression is one of surprised betrayal and I feel another surge of guilt. But I don't say anything else.

Furiously, she weaves her way out of the mini urban forest, white-blonde waves of hair bouncing against the red coat she's wearing and I wonder whether my relationship has just ended. I rest against a kind of sad-looking tree and only realise I've zoned out when the guy dressed as santa offers me the thing for $40. Maybe I'm having some sort of breakdown, but I pay him and minutes later I'm making my way back to my apartment with a five-foot Christmas tree that looks like it too is hating the world right now.

X

Monday morning strikes with a blizzard and a text message from Voight warning me to take it easy on the way into the station. When I finally get there, Platt gives me her usual stern nod and I make my way up the stairs to the pen where I find Ruzek looking like I felt the day before yesterday.

"I sent that text as a warning to go steady out there, not as permission to get your ass out of bed even later than usual," Voight barks as I take a seat at my desk. I glance at my watch. It's barely 7:55. I'm not even late. I don't tell him this however, because from the look on his face, he's in no mood to argue over the time. Instead, I aim a questioning glance at Atwater who simply shrugs before the boss tells everyone to listen up.

We're going after a guy who's suspected of supplying firearms to two young men who've ended up dead in Garfield Park. There's been a tip-off saying the suspect has been staying with his cousin on West Jackson Boulevard and we all look at each other because even by Chicago's standards, this is a bad neighbourhood.

"Halstead and Dawson, Ruzek and Atwater, get yourselves kitted up."

We all rise at Voight's instruction and head to the locker room.

In less than ten minutes, we're on the road and grateful for the ploughs that are working hard to keep the streets _just_ clear enough that we can get across to East Garfield Park without incident.

It turns out that driving was the easiest part of the whole thing though. Our suspect - James Clancey - wasn't going down without a battle and the shoot-out that followed our arrival in the building he was staying in ended with Atwater taking a bullet in his vest and Clancey taking one in his shoulder. I'm tasked with heading over to Chicago Med to keep tabs on him but at least while he's in surgery, I'll get chance to finish a cup of coffee without Voight barking orders.

When I arrive at the hospital, I'm both grateful for the warmth and ungrateful for the smell that hits my nose as soon as I walk through the doors. I never get over that smell and it makes me wonder how people like my brother ever feel clean when they work somewhere like this. My first port of call is the reception where I confirm that Dr Rhodes is treating Clancey, swiftly followed by the vending machine to get what is quite probably the worst cup of coffee in the city. I'm just turning round when I look up and see the girl who's been flitting into my thoughts all weekend. From the dark circles under her eyes, she looks like she hasn't slept in days.

"Hi. Erin right?" I say, and she looks up, confused at first - judging by the look on her face - but then realises she recognises me.

"Um, yeah. Hi. Jay isn't it?"

"Yep. You come to sample the city's worst coffee too?" It's a lame attempt at a joke but she indulges me with a small twitch of her lips anyway.

"Actually, I was heading to the bathroom," she replies, indicating the door behind me. It's only the smallest flick of her wrist that raises her sleeve but I notice a large purple mark marring her skin. Quickly, she tugs the material down and tries to move past me.

"Are you okay?" I find myself asking. "I don't mean because you're going to the bathroom, I mean -"

" - I'm fine," Erin cuts in, just as quickly as she'd covered her arm. "Just, really need to get to the bathroom, so…"

I realise her hands are shaking a little when she claps them together in front of her. She sees me looking and barges past, nearly sending my coffee flying.

I'm not sure why, but I decide to wait until she returns. Not because I'm a stalker, but probably because I've seen hands shake like that before and I know what it means: she's going to take something. So I guess in the back of my mind, I'm making sure she actually comes back _out_ of that door.

She does. She's only in there around a couple minutes so I conclude that at least it's not heroin and I don't know why but the thought makes me feel a little better.

"What are you doing hanging out by the women's bathrooms?" she asks, side-eyeing me with more venom than is necessary.

"Making sure you came out of there alive."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Her hands are no longer shaking. "Well here I am. Alive and well."

"I'm not sure about the last part."

"Why do you even care?" she huffs, turning to face the vending machine. "Worried you're not gonna get another dance from a _girl like me_?"

I watch as she inserts a shit-ton of quarters before selecting two bags of Cheetos, a Twinkie, M&Ms and Skittles. So she gets the munchies when she's high. It shouldn't, but the thought almost makes me smile. Her words, however, make me cringe.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean -"

"- It's fine," she shrugs. "I know what I am."

Her eyes don't meet mine and I want to punch myself for ever having said anything that would make her feel like she seems to right now.

"At least you can say the Skittles count towards your five-a-day," I say, hoping a change of subject will lighten the mood, and she just rolls her eyes. Gathering her haul from the dispensing area, she finally looks at me properly. Her eyes are a little glassy but I can see so many shades of green in them. I wonder if anyone's ever told her this.

"Want one?" she offers, holding out the bag.

"Sure."

Erin hands me the bag to open - she's kind of got her hands full with the rest of her stash - and I take a few, shoving them in my mouth before I offer the open packet to her. She cups her palm for me to tip a few into and then surprises me by only putting one into her mouth at once. I must have a questioning expression because she laughs softly displaying those dimples I saw a few nights ago.

"You gotta make 'em last. Although, maybe we should have started with the Cheetos," she continues. "Saved these for dessert."

I decide that if this is lunch, she at least deserves a drink to go with it.

"Coffee or tea?" I ask, nodding towards the drinks machine before putting in some quarters of my own. "Or hot chocolate? Although I tried that once before and I can assure you that if you think this coffee is bad, that stuff's worse. Not sure it's even seen a flake of chocolate. And don't get me started on the - "

"- You talk a lot." she states, cutting me off and pressing the button for coffee.

I smile. "My mom always used to say that."

Erin retrieves the cup of steaming liquid, sniffs it, and curls her nose up. I fight the chuckle rising in my throat. "Used to?"

At first, I'm a little confused but then I realise she's referencing my previous comment. "Uh yeah. She died a while ago."

"I'm sorry." She twitches her lips in a sympathetic smile I'd rather she didn't make. I don't even know why the hell I just told her that.

"You got a room you gotta get back to, or…"

"Or?"

"You want to eat these in the waiting room?"

She raises a single eyebrow and I can't help but smile. "I should head back."

"You want me to walk you there?" I offer. It's going to a be a while before Clancey wakes up anyway. "Carry your Skittles?"

"I'll save you the trouble of trying to make me feel like you respect me even the tiniest amount and carry them myself," Erin replies and my head whirls at the sudden shift. A bitter laugh cracks through her lips and it makes me wonder whether this is even the same girl I was talking to a minute ago. "Don't look like you're offended you got caught. I know how guys like you see me."

"It's not...It's not like that."

"It's _always_ like that," she replies, heading down the corridor in the direction she came from. I realise that I'm still holding her Skittles.

"Your candy," I call out and she turns. For a minute I think she's going to come back, but I'm strangely disappointed when all she does is shrug her shoulders and reply,

"You keep them. They'll balance out against the wheatgrass smoothie you probably had for breakfast."

With that gem of a parting comment, she's gone and I'm left wondering whether I should chase her or just leave it alone. I pour some Skittles into my hand and make my way back to the waiting area.

X

By the time I make it home after filing in more paperwork than should be necessary, all I want to do is crack open a bottle of beer, order chinese and catch up on the game I recorded. I dial the number for some new place that's opened up a couple blocks away and decide to take a shower in the twenty minutes they tell me it'll be until delivery. When the guy knocks on my door with eggs rolls and chow mein, I'm onto my second beer and contemplating buying another Christmas tree next weekend. The one in front of my window looks like an addict jonesing for a fix. And that's when I think of her.

I try and focus on the game but the harder I concentrate, the more I hover between guilt and concern until in the end, I flip off the tv, grab my jacket and keys and decide to head over to Bunny's to apologise. And check she's okay. That image of the bruise on her wrist is imprinted on my brain and I keep wondering whether the guy from the steps at the back of the club gave it to her. Shoving my wallet in my back pocket, I wince at the thought of whether I have enough cash to put on the floor of the stage if she's dancing. As much as she looks like she needs the help, I will _not_ throw it at her.

I flick the lights off and close the door behind me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - Thank you so much for your reviews guys. You're amazing. Hope you enjoy chapter 3 :) x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

Things aren't exactly in full swing when I enter Bunny's but it's only 10:30 and I figure it'll get busier later. It is though, a Monday night in December, and so maybe this is it. Murders are less over the winter months, perhaps it's the same story for visits to strip clubs. All of these thoughts run through my mind as I'm making my way to the bar, expecting to see the older woman from Friday night pouring drinks with a sour expression. She's not there however. Instead, some guy with a tight black t-shirt and cold brown eyes is watching me walk towards him. He looks half-amused, half like he's going to stab me if I look at him the wrong way. There's something familiar about him and I silently wonder whether he's the guy I saw Erin with on the back steps.

I'm driving and really should order something without alcohol, but this guy already looks like he could kill me; I don't need to give him any more reason to question why I'm here so I order a Sam Adams and tell myself to drink it slowly. I haven't seen Erin yet and of course, there's a chance she's not here, but I decide to take a seat towards the side of the room where I can survey the place a little less obviously.

It doesn't take long for me to spot her. She comes out of the door to the side of the stage which I figure must be the changing room, and she's wearing another sheer shirt - this time in blue - with a short black skirt and heeled sandals. The music over the speakers changes without even a hint of a fade or mix, signalling the start of her routine to Nine Inch Nails. I wait for her to hook her leg around the pole so she can unbutton her shirt but tonight it stays closed. Instead, she's toying a crop between her fingers and I watch the way her eyes stay cast down at the floor until the chorus gets going and a few cheers join the poor-quality song. That's when she looks up and I know she's seen me.

Her eyes aren't just glassy this time, they're glazed. Whatever she's taken, it's clearly having a bigger effect on her than the stuff earlier in the day; she's having trouble focusing. I watch as her eyes flit across to the guy behind the bar who seems to smirk at her. Erin smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes and I rack my brains, trying to think whether I've ever seen a more depressing sight, and determine that I have, _but only just_.

Instead of disappearing off stage at the end of the song like last time, she waits for the vocals of The Rolling Stones to wash over the room while guys start throwing dollar bills in her general direction. More than anything, I'm pissed that that's all they think she's worth and before my brain can register what my feet are doing, I'm walking towards her to lay down a twenty. She may be high, but I can tell she registers that Jackson is staring up at her as she contorts her body around the pole and looks anywhere but at me.

Three more songs later, she's still up on that stage and I wonder why she's gracing the room with a significantly longer performance tonight. I've been scanning the amount of dollar bills on stage and make her grand total to be about $46 or so - including my $20. I hope she's getting paid a flat rate too because if not, she's going to struggle to buy groceries, let alone pay the rent on what I assume will be a pretty substandard apartment nowhere safe. With this is mind, I wait until she's turned away from me to lay down another $20 but she whips round as I'm busy settling back into my seat and the expression on her face is of sheer embarrassment. I want to go back in time and never have come on Ruzek's bachelor party but it's too late now and besides, I'm here to apologise. The look she's wearing tells me I'm going to have to work hard at it.

As I bring my beer to my lips, I realise I've forgotten to go slow, and silently remind myself to take it steady. I need to pee, but if she finishes her set while I'm in the bathroom, I might not get chance to speak to her so I wait. Luckily for me (but not for her bank account) that wait lasts only the remainder of the song, but instead of approaching me like I hoped she would, she disappears through the door to the side of the stage having gathered her money from the floor in a manoeuvre that told the room she's wearing lace panties. I can't explain why I hate the fact that even though I've just seen enough to determine that, so has everyone else.

When she comes back out, not in a change of clothes like I expected for some reason, I prepare to be ignored or even insulted but again, she surprises me. This time, it's by marching boldly over with a bag in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.

"Let's go."

She continues her march toward the exit and I rise, throwing a couple dollars onto my table as a tip but I'm not sure why because the service in here is awful. Maybe I'm subconsciously trying to buy my way out of the guilt I'm feeling.

"Where are we going?" I ask as Erin throws the door open before shuddering at the blast of cold air that hits our faces.

She shrugs. "Take your pick. Yours, mine, hotel, I'm not bothered. But if you want to go to a hotel, you're paying."

I freeze. She thinks I'm here to have sex with her.

"I'm not…" I trail off, thinking about how best to put this as she puts the cigarette to her lips and cups her hands around the end as she lights it. It takes several fumbles of her lighter but the end is finally aglow and I watch as she closes her eyes while exhaling.

"That's not what I came here for."

Her eyes snap open and then narrow in suspicion. "So what was the $40 for? Groceries?" She lets out an icy laugh and I feel offended by her impression of me.

"Just figured you could use it."

"You came here _just_ to give me $40?" Her tone is skeptical as she takes another drag of the cigarette. I'm torn between wanting to yank it out of her mouth and stamp on it, or taking a drag myself. As a compromise, I do neither.

"I _came_ here to apologise for earlier." I pull my jacket around my body. It really is _freezing_. "I never meant to make you feel...how you felt."

"Don't worry about it."

Thing is, I want to not worry. But I can't.

"Can I give you a ride home?" I ask in response.

"Why?"

"Because it's cold and you're wearing that." I indicate her less than suitable Chicago winter attire. "Because I don't like the idea of you walking around on your own at night."

"I can get the bus."

I sigh because she's making this harder than it needs to be. "Erin, just let me take you home."

She finishes her cigarette and drops the butt on the floor, stomping it out with the toe of her shoe, even though the snow on the ground puts paid to any chance of it staying lit. "Fine."

X

Everyone's seen the stereotypical grotty apartment in the bad neighbourhood in movies. That's the kind of place Erin lives. Her building is on a street I've been to a couple times over the past few years for various crimes and if I was concerned for her safety before, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. Englewood is a tough neighbourhood, especially for a white single woman who's obviously dependent on more than just being happy to get through her day.

"How long have you lived here?" I ask, stalling the inevitable as long as I can so she can stay safe inside the warmth of my car.

"A couple months. The last place I lived had a leaking roof and a landlord who didn't give a shit."

Something tells me she didn't pay that last month's rent. "What's it like? Living here?"

"Shittier than where you probably grew up."

"Canaryville wasn't all white picket fences."

She seems surprised at my response and, for the first time since I've known her, seems unsure of what to say. I cock an eyebrow and try not to smirk a little.

"How long are we gonna do this for?" she says eventually, and I frown, unsure of what she means.

"Do what?"

"Put off the inevitable."

"If you want to go someplace warm, we can. There's a decent diner not too far from here. The coffee's not great but it beats the hospital vending machine stuff."

That same icy laugh she used earlier escapes her lips. "That's _not_ what I meant."

"Then what?"

"Are we having sex or not?"

"Erin," I take her hand and wince at how cold her skin is. Her palm is soft but she stiffens so I drop it. "I came to drop you off and make sure you got home safe."

For a millisecond, she looks hurt and I curse myself again because I have no idea what to do or say around this woman and I also have no idea why I care so much what she thinks of me. But I do. Care, that is. Taking her seatbelt off, she scrabbles in her purse and pulls out two $20 bills. "Here." She thrusts them towards me. I shake my head. "I'm not a charity case."

"I didn't say you were. I paid you for your dances."

She scoffs. "Nobody pays $40 for a dance in that place."

"Well I did."

"Then you overpaid."

I shrug. "I'm okay with that."

"I'm not," she returns, actually _throwing_ the money at me before storming out of the car towards the front door of a building which looks like it's about to fall down at any given moment. I want to go after her but know it'd be a bad idea. Instead, I sigh and wait in the car until she disappears inside. I wait for longer than is necessary, just in case she comes back out again, but when fifteen minutes have past I cut my losses and drive home.

I think of her eyes until I fall asleep.

X

More snow has fallen overnight and the city is white again as opposed the grey it had become by the end of yesterday evening what with the traffic and pollution smoking the previously plain canvas. The sun shines all day though, making the snow look like white glitter while I finish paperwork and arrange to meet a few of the guys after work at Molly's. It's a slow day but I'm not complaining; we don't get many of these and a day without being called to any kind of violent crime-related incident should always be appreciated.

By the time we get to Molly's, I'm in desperate need of a beer or ten because I can't stop thinking about Erin. With every silver lining comes a great, huge black cloud. With great difficulty, I force her out of my mind when I realise I'm the only one not laughing at a joke Dawson just made and as a result, everyone is staring.

"You alright man?" Atwater asks.

"I'm fine," I tell them, taking a healthy swig from my bottle as though it proves a truth. Nobody seems to suspect anything else, and really, I _am_ fine. I'm just worried about Erin and I'm also worried about _why_ I'm worried about her. Maybe it's the dimples. Or because I kind of maybe don't have a girlfriend anymore. Lexi hasn't called or text and I strongly suspect I'm the one who's meant to call first. I'm just not sure what to say.

"Yo Halstead!" It's Atwater again. "You with us?"

In body, I figure, yes. But my head's outside a crappy apartment in Englewood and there's a feeling I just can't shake. I'm a little concerned that going over there would be borderline stalking but my intentions are simply to see if she's okay. Surely that counts for something.

"Maybe he's got trouble with the missus," Roman laughs and when I don't answer, a few laughs of "oh shit," chorus around the table.

"I think I'm gonna take off," I tell them and feel kind of lame for it when they start apologising. "Kinda have somewhere I need to be."

There are jokes about make-up sex being the best and as I'm heading towards the door, someone (probably Ruzek) shouts at me to remember a rubber. I both love and hate my team at the same time.

When I reach her building, I park the car out front, pat my side where my gun sits and head towards the front door. It's only in this moment that I have no idea which apartment is hers, or what her surname is. I figure it's a small enough building that if I buzz a few different people, at least one of them will be her, or at least someone who knows her and is willing to let me in. Turns out though, that the buzzers are broken, as is the front door lock. I make my way inside and recoil at the smell of the hallway. That awful hospital smell would win out over this any day of the week.

I try a few different doors on the ground floor and get only one answer. The woman behind doesn't speak English and either doesn't know who Erin is, or just isn't telling me. I have no option but to try the next floor. I have no luck there and I'm about to decide between simply shouting her name or cutting my losses and going home when the door of number 15 opens and a grey-haired woman with a denim dress smelling of cooking oil appraises me from head to toe, then asks if I mean Erin Lindsay. When I give a description to confirm her surname, the woman nods and sends me to the second floor.

"Number 34."

I thank her just before she shuts the door in my face and make my way up the stairs, taking care not to touch the railing. Compared to this place, my building is a palace. I remind myself to feel grateful when I go back there, and not curse the superintendent when he fails to fix the sticking mail boxes.

Reaching Erin's front door, I notice - thanks to the dinginess of the hallway - that there's a light on, and feel thankful that I don't have to go to Bunny's tonight. I suppose I don't _have_ to go anywhere at all. But in the back of my mind, I know if she wasn't here, i'd be heading across town.

I knock and there's no answer so I knock again, louder. A minute or so passes without the door opening and so I bang a little harder - this time with my fist.

"Erin?"

I hear a bit of a clang, a string of curse words that shouldn't make me smile but do, and I'm just getting ready to pound on the flimsy excuse for a barricade once more when it opens tentatively.

"Are you stalking me?"

Kinda feel like I am. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Wasn't that what you were doing yesterday?"

Yes. And I'm here again but so what? "Yesterday I was apologising."

She doesn't open the door any wider and it make me wonder what she's hiding. I can't miss the smell of liquor on her breath though, nor the way her eyes are glazed again.

"Well here I am. I'm okay."

"You're not gonna invite me in?"

"Nope."

I sigh and slide my foot across the threshold of her apartment, just in case she gets any ideas about slamming the door in my face. "Would you just," I reach out to tilt her chin upwards so she'll look at me and I can assess whether there is even a _hint_ of truth to her words, but the action makes her jump and she stumbles backwards, wincing as her hands go to her left side and the door opens wider to reveal a shit-tip of an apartment. I don't know where to look first; there are bruises down her arm and even though I know they're not track marks, I feel a lump in my throat as I look over her shoulder to see a kitchen that looks like all it houses is booze.

"It's a little messy," she tries to smile but it comes out as a grimace and I step closer. She backs up.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

" _Erin_." I reach forward to take her arm in my hands and she won't look at me. Her other hand is still clutching her side and there's an indescribable rage building inside me that anyone would do this to her. Ignoring the state of her apartment, I survey the bruises which are consistent with grab marks before my hands tentatively touch the hemline of her sweater. I think I hear a wince and I realise the door is still wide open, so I close it with the heel of my boot and resume my attention on her side.

"I won't hurt you," I say softly. "But I need to see whether you need to see a doctor."

"I'm fine." It's a weaker protest than before and I crouch down a little so my eyes meet the level of hers.

"Erin, you're hurt and I need to know how badly so that we can get you care if you need it."

"I have no insurance. I'm _not_ going to see a doctor."

Of course she doesn't. I sigh inwardly and figure if I can just get a look at her injuries, I can call Will and check the best course of action. "Then can you let me see? I'll be gentle."

Reluctantly, she lets go of her side and I lift her sweater up with my left hand. There are bruises _everywhere_. Her skin - which I can tell would be marble white usually - is spoiled with circles of red and purple and green and yellow.

"Who did this to you?"

"I fell."

"Erin…"

"I _said_ , I fell."

It goes without saying that I don't believe her, but she's obviously not going to open up. It goes against my nature as a cop - the whole not pushing for information thing - but right now, I'm here as Jay and not Detective Halstead. Besides, I haven't actually told her what I do for a living. My guess is she'd be even less likely to tell me anything if she knew. I continue checking her over as carefully as I can and when I tell her she can lift her sweater back down, the material covers her skin faster than I can blink. It's likely that she's got at least a cracked rib but painkillers will be the only treatment a doctor would prescribe anyway, so I figure she might as well rest at home for free. Just...not _this_ home.

"Come on," I say quietly, turning to indicate that she should follow me out of the door. Needless to say, she doesn't.

"I told you I'm not going to the hospital."

"That's not where I'm taking you."

"Then where? I can hardly twirl around a pole tonight."

Something in my chest tightens at the fact that she's even thought that, let alone said it. "My place. It's warm, safe; I can make sure you're okay there."

Finally, she looks at me. Her eyes are still a little glazed. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I want you to be safe." It really is _that_ simple.

"But…" her voice is almost a whisper. " _Why_?"

I take her hand and smooth my thumb across the skin. At first, she tenses but when she looks back at me again, seems to relax a little. "I just...do."

Though somewhat surprising, my answer seems to be good enough and Erin nods gently. We ride to my apartment in silence.

X

"I should go," Erin says literally the moment I close the door of my apartment behind us. I'm not sure why she's had the sudden change of heart; maybe it's the pathetic excuse for a christmas tree keeling over in front of the window. There's this look in her eyes - the glaze is leaving and is being replaced by what looks like the urge to run. I assure her again that I'm not going to hurt her, but that she really, _really_ needs to rest. "Besides," I add. "My bed is unashamedly comfy."

This comment seems to bring her round and she curls one side of her mouth into a smile. It's the same one she gave when I saw her in Bunny's: false. "Come on then," she says, stepping close enough to graze her hands over the part of my shirt that my open jacket is revealing. Either she hasn't seen my gun or it doesn't phase her. I'll hide it when she's in the shower. "Lead the way."

She moves her mouth close enough to my ear and I don't miss the way my body responds. There are tingles shooting down my neck and arms and I have no idea where they've come from. This has never happened before. Right as her lips land on my skin, I manage to recover enough to take her arms in my hands gently enough that I don't hurt her, but just tight enough that I can pull away to put a couple inches distance between us. There's a small part of me that doesn't want her to stop if my body is going to respond like _this_ , but I don't want her to think this is why I've brought her here.

"Erin." My voice is hoarse and I clear my throat. Her eyes focus in on my neck again and she leans forward so I step back. "Erin."

She stops and snaps her head up in annoyance. "What?"

"I didn't bring you here for that." I'm met with silence and I continue. "You need to rest."

"Fine."

Her injuries prevent her from stomping over to my couch and I fight the strange urge to smile because here is this girl I met a few days ago, pissed that I won't let her sleep with me because I want her to rest.

"I was going to order pizza," I say, figuring a change of subject is probably best. "You can take a shower if you like?"

There's that side-eye I first saw in the hospital (I make a silent reminder to ask her about what she was doing there later) as she judges either my seriousness or motive. Probably both.

"I don't have a towel."

"I have plenty."

She follows me slowly as I make my way to the cupboard in which the spare bedding and towels are kept, then as I go to my bedroom in search of some clothes for her to wear. She must not realise where we're headed because when she looks round as I flick on the light, I hear a quiet and surprised "oh," escape her lips.

"You want a hoodie or just a t-shirt?" I ask.

"Hoodie." Her tone is a little clipped but when I hand her the stuff she needs, her expression softens. "Thanks."

I don't dwell on her gratitude and instead, direct her to the bathroom, telling her she can use any of the products she likes. Her lips twitch into the smallest hint of a smile and she disappears behind the door.

When the delivery guy arrives with the 15" pepperoni pie, garlic bread, salad and fries, I'm starting to grow a little worried that Erin's been in the shower close to thirty minutes. I rack my brains, trying to remember whether there's anything in the cabinet she might try and... _take_...but just as I'm mentally working my way along the top shelf, the lock clicks and out she comes in a cloud of steam, drowning in a pair of my sweatpants and looking indescribably attractive in my police hoodie. Her hair is tousled and damp, her skin free of any makeup and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss her forehead. I don't. Instead, I grab the two plates from the counter top, hand one to Erin and direct her to the small feast on my kitchen table.

We eat on the couch in front of the christmas tree, mostly in silence, though the background noise of the evening news eases the tension a little. The way she wolfs down her first two pizza slices make me concerned that I haven't ordered enough, but by the time she's had a slice of garlic bread and a handful of fries, she's groaning in that 'so-full-you-can't-move' way.

A knock at the door makes her jump and I don't miss the fear in her eyes. Seeing it is a confirmation that since her shower, she's relaxed a little around me. Whoever's on the other side has just shot that to hell. Rising from the couch, I offer her a smile which she doesn't return, then make my way to the door. It's Lexi.

"Are you seriously just _not_ going to call?" my girlfriend... _ex-girlfriend?_ shrieks. "The least you could do is call me to apologise! You didn't even -"

I know why she's stopped mid-sentence. Following her eyes, I see her gaze has settled upon the back of Erin's head. I don't know why, but I don't even bother to try and explain. "You bastard!"

She slaps me. Actually slaps me. And like an idiot, I just stand there, take it and then watch her leave. Maybe, somewhere, there should be sadness. Just...I don't feel it yet.

"Are you okay?" Erin asks as I close the door. She's making her way over like a timid child might seek out a parent after an argument. It's kind of nice. But I can see the effort she's putting into getting to me, and I just want her to rest.

"I'm fine." It's not a lie. I really am.

"Was that your girlfriend?"

"I think she _was_ my girlfriend."

"Oh." Something in her eyes softens and all of a sudden, the way she's looking at me is making me nervous; I'm pretty sure I might be looking at her the same so I move, guiding her back towards the couch.

"You need to stay still."

"You got any beer?"

I do, but I don't think it'd be a good idea if we start drinking. After my body's response earlier, I'm not sure my self-control would win out if there's alcohol involved. Besides, Erin needs to heal and I don't think beer will help. "Uh, how about coffee?"

She raises an eyebrow so I match her and she rolls her eyes like a stroppy teenager. "Fine."

X

It's late and I've got work in the morning but it turns out Erin's more of a night person. Figures. I thought after she'd relaxed a little, she might tell me more about how she got her bruises but she hasn't and I know better than to push too hard. We've been watching some crappy tv movie for the last forty minutes and I'm fighting sleep so hard that twice I've caught her smiling at me as I've managed to drag my eyelids back up and focus on my surroundings. They were real smiles too: dimples on display and everything.

"Go to bed," She tells me after my head drops towards my chest and it takes pretty much all of my efforts to lift it back up. "I'll be fine here."

Obviously I'm not going to let her take the couch, but while my sleepy brain is processing this, she's misinterpreting my lack of response for concern for my possessions. "I won't steal anything. I might be a mess, but I'm not a thief."

It hadn't even crossed my mind. I turn to face her. "You're not a mess, Erin."

The sound that escapes her lips is what probably started off as a disbelieving laugh, but with the pain of her injuries, turns into a cross between a gasp and a wheeze. "And I hadn't thought for a second that you would steal anything. But you need to rest - in bed - even if you're not particularly tired."

"I'm fine here."

I ignore her and make my way to the closet where I keep the spare duvet and pillows. She's still sitting on the couch when I return to dump the duvet there, and remains while I take the spare pillows to my bedroom. I've had enough cracked ribs over the years to know she won't be able to sleep lying down so make a padded backrest for her to lay against. When I'm done and I've softened the lighting by flicking on the bedside lamp, I head back to the living room where Erin is eyeing the refrigerator.

"You still hungry?" I ask, even though I know the real reason for her interest in the single most expensive kitchen appliance I own.

"I'm fine." Her response is cold. Seems kind of fitting.

"Come on then," I nod towards the general direction of my bedroom - not that there are many options of rooms to head to.

I know she doesn't want to follow me - she's pretty much dragging her feet - but she does and when she spots the little cocoon I've made for her, I think I see her eyes fill with tears. She doesn't let any fall though and I figure I should leave her to it, right after I bring her a glass of water and the painkillers I know she'll need.

"I'll be on the couch," I say softly after I've set them down on the nightstand. "If you need me."

I'm almost out of the door when I hear her voice. "Jay.."

I both hate and love the way she says my name. "Yeah?"

It takes her a while; a few twitches of her fingers which I know are probably withdrawals. "Thank you."

No need to make her feel like she owes me anything. I smile, nod and close the door on my way out.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- I love you for reviewing you little stars. Hope you enjoy number four :) x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

When I wake, it's a little after six and my first thought is coffee. My second? The woman asleep down the hall. I pad around quietly, flicking on my trusty filter machine before searching my cupboard for two generous mugs. I set them down on the counter and that's when I notice the open liquor cupboard. It's not open all the way - just enough to let me know that Erin was in there last night - and a sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.

"Erin?" I call out. There's no answer. I'm almost positive I know what'll await me when I reach my bedroom and my suspicions are confirmed when I push open the door and find my bed empty. A bottle of Jack Daniels that I'm pretty sure was full when I last saw it is sitting on the nightstand, devoid of all liquid and I curse myself for not waking either when she decided to go on her drinks binge or when she left. For both actually.

A few choice words escape my lips as I realise she's been gone probably at least a half hour; it's still dark outside and it's absolutely fucking freezing. I don't even think she brought a coat and I know she's no longer wearing the sweat pants and hoodie I gave her because they're lying on my bed in a haphazard heap. So yeah, her body is probably shutting down if it hasn't already but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do because clearly, my efforts to help are pointless. I can't call her because I have no idea if she even has a phone, let alone what her number might be, and so I head to the shower and figure I can track her down tonight after work. Maybe I should just cut my losses; give up. By the time I've finished that short train of thought, my mind is already telling me not to be stupid because there's no way in hell I'd just ignore this situation. It's gone too far. I think _I_ might have gotten in too far.

By the time I reach the station, my hands are numb from the cold because I forgot to put on gloves and I've got a headache that rivals only the ones I get when I'm hungover. We spend most of the day filling in paperwork, reviewing some old cases and generally starting to get a little bored. It's late afternoon when Voight tells us to listen up and when we do, he tells us some information that makes me feel as though my stomach might be about to fall through my ass.

"This guy is thought to operate at a strip club on the south side."

Distantly, I hear Atwater and Ruzek mutter a "nice," at each other which, without even looking up, I know is accompanied with a grin.

"We've been there before," I think I hear a hint of a sigh in Voight's voice. "For Ruzek's bachelor party."

" _Bunny's_?" I practically choke.

"Correct. Well seeing it obviously made such a lasting impression on you Halstead, you're up. Dawson, Olinsky; you too."

"Sarge -"

"I said, you're up." Voight looks daggers at me and I don't argue. I just pray to God Erin isn't there.

X

Bunny's doesn't open to the public until midnight but there's a high chance at least someone will be there setting up for the evening. Dawson and Olinsky cover the back exit while Voight and I take the front. I already know the guy we're going after - David Montez - is the guy I saw behind the bar the last time I was here. I know I need to tell Voight about my subsequent visits after Ruzek's bachelor party but now probably isn't the best time, especially considering the fact he's holding up a loaded gun.

"Exit secured," we hear Olinsky's voice tell us over the radio and I get a nod from Voight before he radios back,

"Going in."

The doors are heavy and take a good few kicks from us both before they spring open to reveal the set of stairs I walked down only a few nights ago. We take the stairs quickly and as we reach the top, my shout of "Chicago P.D," intermingles with a couple of screams from the girls working there. Montez breaks towards the general direction of the back exit as Voight shouts at him to hold his hands up and right as I think our suspect is going to comply, Erin comes out of the door by the stage, stumbling in a way that notifies everyone she's wasted and Montez grabs her, his knife blade pressed against her neck eliciting a strangled scream, although I think it's borne out of pain rather than surprise or fear; there's no way her injuries will be any better than they were last night and he's holding her right where her ribs sit.

Montez spins her so he's facing us and we can see Erin's face. It's only then that she notices me but what gets me is the look in her eyes; it isn't fear or despair. It's acceptance. Acceptance that if this is how her life ends, then so be it. She has no fight left and I vow silently that this won't be her last day in this world.

"Let her go." Voight's voice is calm, steady, unwavering. "You hurt her, you add another twenty years to your sentence."

Montez practically scoffs. "Twenty years? She's a stripper and a snitch."

I know he's tightened his hold on her because she squeals in pain and it makes me want to punch him so hard he'll never see daylight again. I keep my position. "Told you he was a cop," he breathes roughly against her ear, nodding in my general direction. I never should have come on this bust. "And what you'd get if you ratted out."

"I didn't t-" her response is cut short by the knife blade sinking into her skin. Right there is where waiting for orders flies out of the window and I pull my trigger, watching as Montez falls to the ground clutching his leg. Voight rushes at him while I go to Erin, leaving the rest of my team to help our boss. He's in handcuffs before anyone radios for an ambulance but my only concern is the woman in front of me who's bleeding from her neck. Her hands are shaking as she tries to hold them against her wound and being this close, I can't mistake the alcohol on her breath as she gasps in and out.

I tell her she'll be okay, that the ambulance is on its way and she's safe now; it's a surface wound which looks worse than it is but I'm kind of panicking too because I'm just getting over the adrenaline rush that was managing to keep me calm. I move to sit her up to ease the blood flow but she mistakes it for me leaving and it's only then that her emotions betray her. She clings to my shirt - the part that's poking out from under the bullet vest as a silent sob escapes her lips. I do my best to shush her, holding my hand over hers against her neck and stroking her hair with the other and even though I already know my team is confused, I refuse to acknowledge them right now. Erin is using me as a shield and I'm more than okay with that.

When the ambulance arrives and the paramedics get to us, Erin is still refusing to let me go and my chest feels as though someone is squeezing it when I'm literally hauled apart from her. I'm not sure I'll ever get the image of her white fingertips being pulled from my shirt out of my head.

"Erin, you need to let them check you," I tell her gently. I can feel Voight's eyes burning into the back of my head. "I'll be right here."

She looks at me then; _really_ looks at me. It's a look that says she wants to believe what I'm saying but she can't and I wonder how many times in her life someone has given her reason to think like that. I inch upwards, stepping back carefully to let the paramedics do their job as I make my way across to Voight. He's red in the face and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me.

"You wanna explain Halstead?" he says so carefully lowly that if I didn't know any better, I'd think his words were in my head. I look at him and can instantly tell they weren't.

"It's not what you think."

Actually, I'm not sure what he thinks, so this maybe isn't the best thing to say.

"It'd better not be."

"Look, I'll explain once we get back to the station," I keep my voice low so Erin can't hear. "But I need to go with her to the hospital. Please Sarge."

"Fine." His lips are stretched into a tight line. "But you get your ass back to the pen before eight."

I nod and make my way back to Erin. Blood has trickled down her neck and is staining her shirt, and her eyes are heavy with tears. The paramedics are putting a large dressing across the wound while telling her that they'll need to check her over once they get to the hospital. Her eyes lock with mine again and I know she knows exactly what they're going to find.

X

I'm back in the pen by seven and everyone seems to be waiting around to hear what I have to say. Atwater seems so amused that he's reclining back in his chair with his hands behind his head, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He's left disappointed however, when Voight motions for me to go into his office and I'm ready to get an earful, even though I've done absolutely nothing wrong.

"Now tell me Halstead," Voight grits out. "How it is that you're on first-name terms with the stripper we saw last weekend."

"Sir, I -"

"- And how Montez recognised you. Knew you were a cop."

"I -"

"-If you've slept with her, so help me-"

"- I haven't." This time, it's my turn to cut in. "Slept with her I mean."

"Then tell me what the hell that was back there. Cos that ain't your run-of-the-mill hostage situation."

The brief mention of Erin's ordeal earlier this afternoon reminds me again of her eyes and the way she hadn't wanted to let me go of my shirt. I feel bad for following Voight's orders about returning before eight, even though she was asleep when I left the hospital. "When I was leaving Bunny's that night," I tell him, referring to Ruzek's bachelor party. "I was round the back of the place heading towards the street for a cab when I heard raised voices. It was Montez and Erin. I got there just in time before he hit her; I think she was trying to negotiate a drug deal. Anyway, she seemed hurt but she headed back inside. I happened to bump into her at the hospital after we'd made that arrest in East Garfield Park and I saw a huge bruise all along her arm. I went to Bunny's to check on her . Montez was there - maybe that's how he recognised me again - and I ended up giving her a ride back to her place which turned out to be a shitty apartment in Englewood,"

At this, Voight lets out a small whistle but says nothing else so I continue, leaving out the part about her trying to get me to sleep with her - and the money I gave her. I know details like these will only serve to piss him off further.

"I went to check on her the next day - she's obviously struggling - and she'd been attacked. I'm guessing by Montez. She wouldn't go to the hospital and I didn't think it was safe for her to stay there so I took her back to my place. I swear nothing happened but-"

"-Got it."

I frown. I was expecting him to call me stupid or maybe demote me to desk duty or something. Instead, Voight just runs a hand over the back of his neck and swallows. "You going to the hospital later?"

I'm not sure whether to tell the truth or not. Figure I probably have nothing to lose. "I was going to."

"Make sure she gets treatment for her addiction. Don't worry about payment."

And with that, he walks out of his office, leaving me behind. I'm utterly confused but grateful that for some unknown reason, he's decided to be empathetic and not an asshole. I catch him telling the guys to go home and so I wait a minute or so before heading to the locker room for a change of clothes. Something tells me Erin won't want to see the same shirt she clung on to earlier today.

X

Her room is bathed in a soft glow when I reach the hospital with a kind of sad-looking bunch of daisies because there was nothing else at the gift shop. She's going to worry about my ability to keep any kind of plant alive. I scoff at my own thoughts because actually, I'm pretty sure she isn't going to give a rat's ass about trees and flowers when she's dealing with everything that's going on right now.

"Hey," I say softly as I enter her room. She's staring ahead and makes no effort to turn her attention to me. "Erin?"

I take a seat beside her bed, laying the daisies on the nightstand. Her eyes flicker quickly towards the blur of white and yellow before returning to their spot on the wall. "I'm sorry they're not too healthy-looking," I try to smile. "But it was all they had at the giftshop."

Her eyes flick once more to the flowers and back to the wall. "They're lovely."

She couldn't say it with any less conviction if she tried.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great."

Either she's trying to piss me off or she's just plain rude. "Was he the one who hurt you before?" I ask. "Montez?"

She doesn't respond.

"Does he supply your drugs?"

At that, her eyes switch from the wall to me in record time. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I eye her fingers. "Your hands are shaking."

She grabs them and pulls them towards her lap as though the act is going to convince me I'm wrong. "You're a cop."

"Detective."

"You never told me that."

"I wasn't sure what you'd think."

The silence probably tells me everything I need to know but I'm not leaving her alone. After last night, I know where she'll be headed in a few hours if I do.

"How long are they going to keep me here for?" she asks after a couples minutes.

"Probably a couple of days at the most."

She goes to pull the IV from her arm but I'm faster. "I need to get out of here."

A few hours ago, she was clinging on to me for dear life. Now, she's desperate to be anywhere else. I hate drugs.

"Erin, you have to stay."

"I don't."

"Except," I reach with my spare hand to tilt her chin so she'll look at me. I'm still half-straddled across her bed and holding the IV in her arm. "You do. And I'm not letting you go this time."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and tries to pull away. I refuse to let her.

"You weren't there when I woke up this morning."

"I had places to be."

"Before six a.m?"

"Yep."

We're silent again for the next few minutes while I try and figure out what to do or say. I slowly release her IV and glance around the room to try and determine whether she might have had any other visitors. Nothing seems untoward but there also doesn't seem to be any evidence of any family or friends having visited. I immediately feel anger towards anyone who she's ever graced with love they don't deserve. I can't help but notice how her fingers are shaking and the way she's trying to curl them in towards her palms in a failed bid to get them to stop.

"Why are you here?" Erin asks, her raspy voice cutting the pained silence.

If I tell her the real reason: I feel guilty, she'll never believe the other reason I'm here. If I lie, she'll probably figure it out because I'm a shitty liar. Either way, I can't win.

"To stop you leaving." It's not a lie. It's not exactly the whole truth either.

"I'm not going to." I fight the urge to laugh. She's even worse than I am at covering up the truth.

"That's good. We can talk."

"About what?"

"Don't mind," I reply, settling back into the chair beside the bed now that I'm about 60% confident she's not going to try and flee in the next five minutes. "You pick."

"You're babysitting me," Erin says in a sullen voice. "I'm not a child."

"I know that."

"Then you can go."

"I don't want to."

"Then you're going to be in for a boring evening because I'm going to sleep now."

My lips twitch with humour but I manage to not let her see me. "I'll turn out the light."

She doesn't stop me and after turning the thing off, I sit back into the chair, kind of grateful for the rest actually. I know it won't be too long before she tries to make her move: her words might tell one story but her body is telling another.

I hazard a guess that maybe ten minutes might have passed before Erin's annoyed tone fills the room.

"You're still here."

"I told you I wasn't going anywhere."

She huffs a sigh in response and I raise an eyebrow, even though she can't see me. "Were you planning on going somewhere?"

"If you must know, I have to use the bathroom."

"I'll call a nurse."

"Don't bother," she mutters. "I can manage myself."

I'm not quick enough to stop her ripping the IV from her arm and I know the shocked gasp she emits is at the sight of the blood pumping out of her from the open vein. Quickly, I flick the lamp back on and see the red liquid has stained the sheets but it's no factor in stopping Erin. Her left hand is clamped to her right arm, which, in turn, is pressed against her side - no doubt to support her damaged ribs. She doesn't make it past me fast enough.

"You need to get back into bed."

"Jay, just let me go."

"No."

"I don't want you here."

"Tough." I'm surprised my voice sounds as calm as it does. Inside, my legs are jelly and my heart is hammering so fast that I can hear it. Her voice is starting to crack with a mixture of anger and frustration and, I think, exhaustion.

"Let me go."

"No, Erin."

At this, hot, wet tears escape her eyes and with what little strength she has, she beats her hands against my chest.

"Let me go!"

It's easy enough for me to cover the tear in her skin with my left hand as I step forward so she has no room to swing against me. With my free arm, I hold her against my chest, my shirt muffling her sobs as the fight to leave drains the rest of her energy and I can tell that the only thing keeping her upright is me. When I sense that she can no longer stand, I shift my weight so I can move her back to the bed in a half-carry, half-pull motion that is neither as difficult nor as strenuous as it should be. Keeping my hand over her arm to stem any bleeding, I lift her so she's lying back in her bed before pressing the nurse's button. She's going to need a change of sheets and a bandage. Before long, she's going to need extra layers when the convulsions start. I really don't want to witness that but I told her I was staying and I mean it.

X

After the nurses have given Erin something to help her sleep and I'm convinced she'll be out for the foreseeable, I find Will so I can try and figure out how the hell to help her. I know it's going to involve a lot of changes and I have no idea if she'll even _want_ to help herself. Seems like she's probably been living this life for way too long; nobody starts on cocaine.

"Voight told me to make sure she gets treatment," I tell my brother. He raises his eyebrows in surprise and I nod. "But how do I get her to accept it?"

"Have you asked her if she would?"

"Didn't really find the right moment, what with her trying to leave and everything."

"Legally, where do you stand with admitting her to a treatment centre?" Will asks.

"Nowhere. We haven't booked her for anything and I want her to want this for herself."

"Well the ideal scenario is never the most likely."

"I know."

"You realise if you take her to a place for treatment, you're in this for the long haul, right?"

I love my brother, but the way his tone is laced with a warning about what I'd be getting myself into riles me a little. "I know."

"Look," he sighs, obviously sensing my slight annoyance. "I'm not trying to be downcast about the whole thing, but you'll almost certainly be pushing her into doing something she doesn't want to do."

"I know."

"Taking her away from the life she lives that's obviously so interconnected to the drugs and alcohol: her job, friends...potential boyfriend."

"Will-"

"Look, I'm not saying it's a bad idea, but you'll have to be the one there to support her and you'll also be the one she uses as her punching bag," he offers a small smile. "So-to-speak. You let it get the better of you, decide you can't take it anymore then you'll be leaving her at probably her lowest point with nobody. And that can only go one way."

"I know."

I _do_ know. Just...I guess I haven't thought about it in those terms.

"Okay then," Will says. The best place for dealing with people like Erin is probably the Primrose Centre. I can put in a call if you like? See if there would be a place for her."

I thank him but he's not finished.

"You've got to get her to agree. It's not somewhere you can force someone to go to."

"They only take voluntary admissions?"

"Yes. But their reputation and success rate is unrivalled."

I tell him to make the call and decide to grab a cup of coffee while I wait. I want to be there when Erin wakes up and if I don't have some kind of caffeine injection, I'm going to be mirroring her soon.

X

She vomits when she wakes. I must have dozed off in the chair because the sound makes me jump and it takes a good ten seconds for me to realise where I am and why. The floor takes the brunt of her queasy stomach and I manage to grab her hair in one hand and the dish in the other before she vomits again and again until tears are pouring from her eyes. Luckily, she's missed her gown and the bedsheets and it's a quick job for the nurse to clean once I've buzzed her.

"You're still here," she croaks weekly once we're left on our own again. "What time is it?"

I check my watch because actually, I have no idea. "1:15am."

"You should be in bed."

"I told you I'd stay."

I can see the sheen of sweat covering her forehead and I want to wipe it off but I'm worried it's crossing a line. I sit on my hands.

"Sorry about earlier."

"It's okay."

"No," she replies. "It isn't."

I wait a few moments before I speak again. "I want to ask you something."

"Okay." Her tone is tentative. It's about a million steps up from earlier.

"If you had the chance to get treatment, would you take it?"

She knows I don't mean for her injuries. "I can't afford it."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's a hard question."

Not the answer I was hoping for. "Because?"

"Because they way they make me feel," I know she means the drugs, "when I've come down, well it sucks. But while I'm...they...block stuff...and I'm not sure I'm ready to give that up."

At least she's honest. I must be wearing my disappointment at her answer because she's speaking again."Why are you doing this for me?"

"You need the help."

"Lots of people need help. Why me?"

"I want to help you."

"Why, Jay?"

"I like you."

The words just come out. I don't know what they mean; I have no idea in what capacity I like Erin Lindsay, but I suspect it has the potential to be in a way that's more than friends. I won't tell her that though.

"I like you too."

For a moment, I'm not sure I hear her right. But I chance a look at her and there's the smallest of smiles crossing her lips.

"Will you think about it?" I ask.

She nods and I feel my smile match hers.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- I can't thank all of you lovely reviewers enough for your kind words of support. I absolutely love reading what you have to say. Hope you all enjoy this chapter x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

The phone call from the Primrose Centre comes midway through the day but we're working on a new case and there's no way I can leave until later tonight despite what's happened. I spend the rest of the afternoon trying (and failing) not to be as anxious for Erin's safety as I am. She's missing.

Voight knows something's up but I deflect his questions and after a while, he seems to give up. I'm pretty sure I'll be paying for the no-doubt numerous mistakes in my paperwork for the next few weeks, but my head is scanning maps of the city in an attempt to pinpoint the route I can take as soon as I leave this place.

Only a week ago, I'd dropped Erin off at the treatment centre, offering her an awkward hug she didn't reciprocate before I left her in the supposed capable hands of the staff there. I know it's irrational to blame anyone other than Erin herself: it's a voluntary admission and therefore, a voluntary discharge, but they should have done more to stop her running. I warned them this could happen.

Seven-thirty doesn't come quickly enough but when it finally does, I don't even stop by the locker room on the way out to the parking lot. The first thing I notice as I leave the building is the biting cold of the city air, unrelenting and cruel. If there's one thing I hope for in this moment, it's that she's wearing warm clothes. Nobody could last long in the skirts and shirts I've seen her wear. By the time I get my car warmed up enough to demist the windscreen, I've wasted a valuable five minutes and have to floor it to get to Erin's apartment.

She's not there. It's not a surprise, but I'm bitterly disappointed all the same.

My next port of call is Bunny's and I grit my teeth as I realise I've spent far more time in that place over the last month or so than I want to recall. The place is quieter than it has been any other time I've visited and I wonder whether it has to do with either Erin or Montez's absence. I kind of hope it's the former but my familiarity with the less desirable residents of this city indicates otherwise.

I make my way to the bar and notice that the woman who was on the back steps talking to Erin during Ruzek's bachelor party is standing behind it with the same surly face devoid of a smile. I rest my body against the cheap plastic surround and order a shot of bourbon. Something tells me she's not going to give me any information if I don't at least overpay for some substandard liquor. The only time she speaks is to tell me I owe her $6 so I give her ten and tell her to keep the change. Before she can turn away, I ask whether she's seen Erin.

"What's it to you, handsome?" I instantly hate her tone.

"I'm looking for her."

"She in trouble?" the woman asks without a hint of concern.

"I don't know."

She shrugs and I think I can make out a faded bruise sitting on her left cheekbone. "Haven't seen her for over two weeks."

I do the math in my head and figure it could be just after I saw her at the hospital by the vending machine. Making to leave because I'm almost certainly not going to get anywhere, the woman stops me.

"If you see her, tell her she's fucked up any chance we had at being happy."

I might look back on this moment in the future and wonder how I managed not to compromise my career with a charge of assault. I figure the answer can be summed up in one word: Erin.

X

It's only when I'm squinting out of my windscreen that I realise how poorly-lit most areas of this city are. Alleys are the kind of places chosen by drug dealers, hookers and gangs for a reason and I wonder whether this city would have even half the crime it does if these areas had decent street lamps.

This city is huge but I've narrowed my search area to the streets around Bunny's. I figure if it's drugs she's after, there must be a usual spot where she'd know a guy. Trying to determine faces from inside of my car is proving too difficult and I park up in the place I'm least likely to come back and find it broken into. Just to add to everything, a few flakes of snow start to fall softly before giving way to flurries within a couple of minutes. I need to find her quickly.

" _Jay?" she whispers my name into the room and I jolt a little in the chair beside her bed. I've slept for about an hour - on and off - and I'm absolutely exhausted. I can't imagine how tired Erin must be._

" _Yeah?"_

" _If I went to a treatment centre, how would it work?"_

 _I scoot the chair a little closer to her bed and reposition my legs so they won't be tingling from pins and needles. My explanation lasts about two minutes before she sighs softly and I think the whole idea is over before it's even begun. But it's Erin. And she surprises me once again._

" _Okay."_

" _Okay what?"_

" _If the offer still stands, I'll go."_

 _I don't think about my reaction and my lips are against her forehead before I've even realised I've stood up. Her eyes close with a tiny smile and I'm pretty sure I'm matching it with one of my own. Only, mine's bigger._

My momentary flashback to the hospital spurs me on despite the worsening weather and I make my way along every street until I've checked them all around the area of Bunny's. She's not here. My chest is tightening with panic and I start a jog back to my car because I need to drive to the next possible place she could be.

I start the engine and head west with only a vague idea of the areas she might be. It's nearing midnight and I have work in the morning so God help me if I don't find her soon. My phone starts ringing and I grab it quickly, not even looking at the caller i.d on the screen. I don't know why I thought it would be Erin, but I'm still disappointed when I get Voight on the other end.

"Halstead, where are you?"

"Uh…" I glance around for no apparent reason; I know exactly where I am. "South side. Why?"

"Erin?"

I know he's asking whether my reason for being in my current location is to do with her. I have no idea why he'd even care, but since his seemingly random act of compassion the previous week, I figure I might as well tell him. He might even know where to look.

"She checked herself out of the centre last night and hasn't been back since. She's not at her apartment or Bunny's or any of the places around there."

The other man is silent for a few moments. "Any idea why she left?"

I sigh. Partly out of frustration, partly from tiredness. "Drugs I guess."

I can tell Voight will be doing that tensing of his jaw muscle thing while he thinks. I realise then, that he must have called for a reason. "Did you need something?"

"You seemed out of it today and you didn't show up at Molly's tonight. Just wanted to make sure you're not compromising our cases."

My level of frustration rises and I do little to keep the evidence from my tone of voice. "I need to find her and then I'll sleep. I'll be in the pen for seven thirty."

Just before I hang up, he replies. "Halstead, let me know if you find her."

"Okay."

I end the call and focus fully on looking into any alley I see. I still don't find her.

X

It's almost three a.m and I'm considering going home but then I remember I'm the one who started this whole thing and I can't just be another person in her life who gives up. She's told me nothing about her background but anyone living the life she does can't have had it all that great. Either a bad sense of direction or a subconscious decision has me making one last loop around Bunny's and that's when I spot her.

Dressed in a tight blue dress with the world's most uncomfortable-looking shoes, she's about to get into a car with some older guy and without thinking, I abandon my car in the middle of the street.

"Erin!" I don't even realise I'm panting until I hear my own voice.

When she turns to look in my direction, I expect to see her eyes glazed over but I'm surprised that all they hold is an emptiness. I'm not sure what's worse.

"Get out of the car," I tell her, reaching for her arm.

"Get off me Jay."

I reach inside my pocket for my police badge and hold it up at the guy. He's no longer in a hurry to get Erin wherever he was taking her and actually starts the car as I'm pulling her away. He almost gets my foot in his hasty exit but he doesn't and I'm now still holding an incredibly pissed-looking Erin.

"You just lost me $80."

I want to scream at her, but I don't. Instead I reach in my pocket for my wallet, pulling out two fifties. "Here."

She eyes me with disgust but takes them anyway and lets me lead her to my car. We just sit there in the seats, parked in the middle of the road for a good five minutes, neither of us speaking. I'm just putting the car in drive when she opens her mouth.

"I can't go back to the centre."

"You need to."

"It's a voluntary thing. I'm not going back."

We take a left at the junction and I purse my lips. "It's a good opportunity to get clean."

"I _am_ clean."

If she thinks I'd believe her that easily, she's wrong. Still, her eyes are clear and I can't smell any alcohol. Perhaps, for today at least, she is. But I don't get why she would leave. "Then what are you doing out here?"

"Bunny fired me. I need the money."

"Bunny, as in your boss?"

"Boss, mom…" she shrugs, "Same thing."

"Bunny is your _mother_?" I can't hide my disbelief. Or my disgust.

"Aren't you glad you've spent your time trying to help a lost cause?"

I think she might be trying to joke but her tone is bitter. I want to take her home, wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her safe from everything and I have no idea why. I also know I can't.

"You're not a lost cause Erin."

She lets out a small burst of air which I think is meant to be a laugh. We pause at the red light and I turn to look at her. "Please let me take you back to the centre."

"You do that and I'll walk out again."

I sigh for what feels like the millionth time today and pull forward as the light turns green. "Will you stay at my place?"

She doesn't respond. "I'll pay what you'd be missing out on."

She swallows thickly and I turn up the heater when I notice her shiver. "Fine."

X

We pull up outside my building and Erin waits for me to get out of the car before she does. I eye her warily in case she decides to either make a run for it or offer her services to one of my neighbours. Luckily, she does neither and we make it up to my apartment without incident. It's close to 3:30 and I'm pretty sure my body is about to shut down but I don't want a repeat of the other week. When she goes for a shower, I'll do some careful reorganising of my liquor collection.

She's standing awkwardly, worryingly close to the apartment door I've just closed behind us. "Everything okay?" I ask.

"You going to pay me?"

I refuse to ask her how much money she wants and instead do some quick multiplication in my head. Figuring $500 would be more than generous, I reach back for my wallet. There's just over $200 in there and so I pull out the notes.

"I'll give you a cheque for the rest."

I don't miss the way her eyes widen at the notes I place on the counter. I've already put money into her hand tonight; I refuse to do it again.

"I don't have a bank account."

Of course she doesn't. "Then you'll have to meet me tomorrow and I'll give you the rest."

There's an expression on her face I can't quite read - possibly because she's contemplating what I've just said. She answers with a short, "fine," and we're back to the awkward silence. I start to wonder whether I've done the right thing by her but then she removes her shoes and so I figure that's something. At least for now, she's staying.

"You want to shower?"

"I guess."

"Remember where the bathroom is?"

"Yep."

"I'll grab you some towels," I say and she follows me to the closet, taking the two white bales of cotton I hold out with a small "thanks". I smile when I realise it's the first time she's been openly grateful for anything all night.

When the door to the bathroom closes behind her, I remember to call Voight with an update. Surprisingly, he sounds relieved and then tells me to get to the station for 10:30.

"I can make it for seven."

"I know."

"Look sarge-"

"- Halstead, either accept the later start or come in at the usual time and drink us out of coffee. Just don't give me a speech about it."

It's my turn to mumble a "thanks," and I turn my attention to the liquor in the kitchen. I've just finished and started brewing some of the black stuff when the door to the bathroom creeps open and I see Erin standing in only a towel. Her hair is damp from where she's towelled it and there are water droplets dancing along her collarbone and shoulders. I want to take a picture so she can see how beautiful she looks like this.

"Do you still have those sweats?"

She's referring to the clothes she borrowed last time and my brain only just remembers to send a signal to my mouth. "Uh, yeah." I head to my bedroom to find them and when I turn around, she's standing behind me. Carefully, I step back after handing her the clothes. I'm not even out of the door before she drops the towel; I'm almost certain she's pressing for a reaction but I don't oblige and instead, head for the mugs in the kitchen.

I look up from the couch as Erin pads into the room, sweatpants pooling around her feet. She offers me her first genuine smile of the evening - even if it is small - in an uncharacteristically shy display.

"There's coffee here for you," I say, taking a sip from my own mug. "If you want it."

She joins me on the couch and takes the mug gratefully between both hands. After a sip, she graces me with a compliment I'm not expecting. "You make good coffee."

Her words probably shouldn't make me smile as much they do but I can't do anything about it and so flick on the tv to fill any awkwardness that might arise. Not much is on at this hour - surprisingly enough - so I settle on some old black and white movie I'm pretty sure I've seen before while Erin brings her legs up onto the couch seat. I can't miss the way the movement shifts her body slightly closer to mine.

Our eyes settle on the tv and I'm not sure about Erin, but I'm not concentrating on the movie - not when she's sitting this close and I have about a hundred questions I want to ask (none of which will make for particularly comfortable answering on her part). I pluck up the courage to ask her one about fifteen minutes after she's finished her last mouthful of coffee.

"Was that guy the first one you've got into a car with?"

"I didn't get into the car with him. You put paid to that, remember?"

She's being a smart-ass but I don't let it phase me. "You know what I mean."

She huffs and stares straight ahead. "No."

It's not the answer I was hoping for but I'm not surprised either. "Why, Erin?"

"I got fired because _you_ ran some drugs bust and arrested my mother's boyfriend - who you shot, by the way. I need the money."

She's trying to make me feel guilty and I kind of hate her for it. Only because it's working. "He hurt you!"

I notice her eyes flick downwards as her shoulders sag a little. "Yeah, well."

Maybe I should shut up shop now and take what answers I've already gotten, but if she's in the mood for opening up, I'm going to see how far I can get. "What do you need the money for?"

"Stuff."

Probably the most evasive answer she could have given. "Such as?"

"Things I need."

She's clearly not offering any more on that topic. Her eyes flick over to the Christmas tree and it dawns on me that the big day is next week. Something tells me she probably hasn't got plans to celebrate. Will's coming over and other than trying to blunder our way through cooking the meal, we're not planning on doing much. He's on call and will inevitably have to leave halfway through carving the beef.

"If you like, you can stay for Christmas."

She scoffs and I assume it's because she doesn't think I'm serious.

"I'm cooking for my brother and at some point, he'll have to head back to the hospital. Just thought," I shrug, trying to act nonchalant as I secretly side-eye her. "It would be nice to have someone else to help eat the beef and potatoes. Keep me company when I eat so much I have to crawl to the couch."

I watch as she bites her lip for a good five seconds before looking at me. "Why would you want _me_ here?"

"I told you. I like you."

Erin's quiet again for a few minutes, her eyes settling back on the tv. My tree's lights are twinkling and suddenly, it doesn't look so sorry for itself. It kind of looks handsome, in a weird sort of way.

Her voice breaks up the scene on the screen and I find myself watching her as she speaks. "I don't want you to write me that cheque."

I'm not sure what's brought this topic up. "You sure? You don't need it to buy _stuff_?" I exaggerate the final word but she doesn't bite.

"I'll be okay."

She doesn't make any attempt to give me back the $300 I've already given her today though and the thought kind of makes me happy. I think there might be something wrong with me. "Okay."

I catch her shivering a little and I don't know whether she's cold or if it's withdrawals but I pull down the blanket I have draped over the back of the couch, covering her so she's cosy. Her hands grip the edge as she shuffles a little, probably adjusting to support the discomfort of her ribs. She's walking way easier but they've still got to hurt. I silently instruct my cheeks not to betray me with a smile as I notice her new position is significantly closer to me, so much so that her knee is resting against my thigh.

"Want to share?" she asks, indicating the blanket, and I do, but I also don't want her to think I've planned this scenario. Without waiting for my answer, Erin scoots even closer and adjusts the brushed cotton so we're both snug.

The movie ends and I expect her to make a move to sit up but she doesn't and when I glance down, I realise she's asleep. I know I should get her into bed so she's more comfortable but that would involve waking her and the look on her face is so peaceful that I can't bring myself to even breathe deeply, let alone peel her off my side. Besides, in a purely selfish reason, I'm enjoying the way she's clutching the hem of my shirt in her fist. I'm not sure if it's intentional or not and I know I shouldn't care but I kind of hope it isn't. I turn the tv off with the remote and when she stirs to snuggle further into my side, my cheeks give out and I grin as I too close my eyes to sleep.

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 **A/N 2 - Next chapter is Christmas Day. Any requests? x**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N - You guys are making me so happy with your reviews. Thanks for the requests that came in - I think I've managed to cater for most of them, and some were even already planned so I'm guessing great minds think alike ;) Hope this chapter has you all feeling pretty festive because I think it'll be the last one before Christmas Day arrives. I'm hoping that I'll have the next chapter finished soon so I can post again before the New Year.**

 **MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOU! Don't forget to review :) x**

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Let Me Love You

Erin Lindsay can _not_ cook. I know this because she's currently in my kitchen burning gravy. I didn't even know that was possible until today, but she's wearing the horrific Christmas apron Ruzek bought me in the secret santa a couple of years ago and she looks utterly adorable. I need to think of another culinary job for her so that I can switch off the gas and make sure we all get at least a small amount of gravy on our beef. Figuring she can't possibly go wrong peeling the potatoes, I dig the peeler from the drawer and ask her whether she wouldn't mind peeling and cubing the Yukon Golds. I don't know why, but she looks at me like I've hung the moon and I want to find every damn vegetable in my local grocery store for her to prepare if that dimple display is the kind of reward I'm going to get.

In the days that have passed since I brought her here from outside Bunny's, we've settled into a semi-comfortable routine of me worrying all day while I'm at work because I know exactly what she's doing when I'm not around, but then I come home to her on my couch. The fact that she's there and not in some dimly-lit alley is worth the crappy nights' sleep I'm getting by not sleeping in my own bed. Even though I know she's suffering (the sweats, shivers and hands shaking are evidence of that) it's better than seeing her high or drunk. But she's still meeting men for money and even though she's not advertising the fact to me, we both know what's happening when I'm not around.

I start with the cranberries because Will likes homemade sauce rather than the stuff in the jar. It's kind of a fiddly job - one that I usually resent actually - but somehow, standing next to Erin in that God-awful apron, I'm thoroughly enjoying myself. I'm half-way through zesting the orange when I hear her sharp intake of breath as she drops the knife she's using. I turn and see blood and quickly pull her over to the sink to run water over the wound. It's a deep cut. She's biting her lip as the water stings the space between her thumb and forefinger and I ask whether she can keep her hand under the tap while I grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. She nods yes and I hurry because the last thing I need is her fainting on my kitchen floor.

When I return, it seems like she's not far off doing just that, and so I pull one of the chairs out from under the table and make her sit while I do my best Will Halstead impersonation and determine whether or not we need to take a trip to the hospital. The blood isn't exactly pouring out of the cut but when I hold a paper towel against her skin, it's soaked through in under twenty seconds.

"I'm going to…" she chokes, warning me she's about to go just in time so that I can position my arms to stop her falling off the side of the chair. I catch her gently and lay her on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor in a move decidedly more calm than I feel, then wait. Grabbing more paper towels, I hold them to her hand with more pressure than I did before and I don't know what I'm more grateful for when Will walks through the door at the same time as Erin opens her eyes.

"Jay?" Her voice is weak and she's a horrible shade of grey but I release the breath I didn't know I was holding and help her sit up slowly.

"What happened?" Will asks, foregoing the removal of his jacket - even though it's about a hundred degrees in here - or maybe that's just me - in favour of checking over the girl sitting on my floor.

"She cut herself and then fainted," I tell him.

"Get her a glass of water; I'll check the cut," he replies and he must sense my reluctance to leave her because he adds a soft "she's okay," as he looks over the wound on her hand.

I grab a glass and fill it with ice-cold water, popping the offending knife into the sink. The last thing we need is Erin seeing her blood on the blade and having to lie on my floor again. I crouch down to her level and hand her the glass. Her own hands are shaking and I see Will side-eye me in a silent instruction to hold it for her.

"Small sips," he instructs, getting rid of the paper towel before reaching for my first aid kit. I bring the glass gently to Erin's lips and tilt it so the water slides down her throat. She smiles gratefully and I get to see those dimples again. My heart shouldn't be hammering like this and I feel a little put out when Will suggests I move so he can bandage her hand.

I do that whole not-thinking thing again and kiss her forehead before rising from the floor. It's only when I reach the oven that I realise what I've just done but it's too late and would be too awkward to retract my show of affection now.

I don't want to anyway.

Erin spends the next half hour lying on the couch under Will's instruction, bitching that she wants to help but we won't let her. Her words make me smile and even though Will kind of knows what the situation here is, I can tell he's undecided about her. About forty minutes after her little episode, I finally relent and let her help, mainly because I'm sick of her moaning. Considering she says very little most of the time, she seems to be incredibly vocal today. I quite like it.

I put her on peeling duty - there's not much that can go wrong with that - and I do the chopping. We're a vegetable prepping team and I don't miss the way her dimples reappear each time she hands me a carrot or parsnip. If we had cheesy Christmas music playing in the background, the scene would be like one of those made-for-tv holiday movies. I grin to myself and keep chopping.

X

Predictably, Will gets a call from the hospital right after I've carved the beef. I feel sorry for the guy; I don't think he's actually made it through the whole of Christmas lunch for the last three years. He tells us to save him a plateful and he'll be back as soon as he can. Erin suggests we wait to eat until he comes back but there's no guaranteeing when that might be and Will tells us to continue without him. In the back of my mind, there's a slight feeling of being glad; it means I can give Erin the gift I got her after we've eaten.

"So," I say, popping a forkful of beef and mashed potatoes into my mouth. "How does this compare with other Christmas lunches you've had?"

She sets her fork down and takes a large mouthful of sparkling grape juice. I figured any kind of alcohol today would be a bad idea. "Uh, well it's kind of the first real one."

I stop chewing. She's twenty eight and this is the first Christmas lunch she's sat down to? Choosing my words carefully, I swallow and reply.

"Then how are you enjoying it?"

She doesn't say it, but I can tell from her expression that she appreciates not making a big deal out of the whole thing. In this moment, I want to give Erin Lindsay everything. "It's really good," she says, spearing a carrot onto her fork. "Especially the gravy."

I can't help but laugh and like that, the awkwardness dissipates and we finish the food on our plates.

Erin rises for her third helping of mashed potatoes and I warn her she's going to burst if she tries to fit any more food in. For someone so tiny, she's managed a heck of a lot of lunch today. I'm not sure I have the right to feel proud, but I do anyway. Maybe the way to this girl's heart is through her stomach.

And just like that, I think I realise ultimately what I want from her: her heart.

"What?" she questions as she sits back down. It must have something to do with my expression.

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrow at me. "Liar."

"Eat your potatoes."

She grins coyly and my heart jumps in my chest. I want to keep this look on her face as long as possible. I wonder whether giving her the gift I bought should wait until later tonight and decide to clean up first. As tasty as the meal is, the clear-up operation involved is a huge trade-off. I'm pretty sure this is the first year I feel like it's worth it.

X

We finally get the kitchen back to normal after around forty-five minutes of washing up, wiping the counters and cleaning the oven. I told Erin I'd do it but she insisted on helping which was sweet of her. I know from her apartment and the way she fails to fold her clothes that keeping somewhere clean and tidy isn't top of her priority list. It kind of makes it all the more enjoyable that she wants to help.

Settling into a comfortable position on the couch is kind of hard when we're both stuffed from the dessert we ate because Erin insisted that if I'd taken the trouble to make it, we at least should give it a try. Girl doesn't offer up small portions either. I'm halfway between deciding whether to vomit whipped cream or attempt a second portion of the tipsy fruit yule log when she groans, rubbing her abdomen.

"Can you get food cramps?"

I chuckle and the movement makes her groan again.

"Sit still."

"You were the one who said we had to eat dessert," I remind her and she flails out a hand to smack me square in the chest.

"I was being appreciative of your efforts."

"And I appreciate the appreciation," I say with a smile. I do. Even with her accident and the fainting and Will having to leave, it's one of the best Christmases I've had.

I flick on the tv for the background noise and kick up my feet next to Erin's on the coffee table.

"Tell me about Christmas when you were a kid," she says.

"Really?" We didn't have a ton of money but our Christmases were always happy. I don't know why she wants to hear about it when her own clearly didn't amount to much.

"I want to know why you're like you are."

I frown. What's that supposed to mean? "And how am I?"

"Kind. Generous. That doesn't come from nothing. You must have had the best Christmases and I want to hear about them."

I tell her about the year I was six and mom burned the turkey so bad that our house smelled like ash for weeks afterwards. Then I tell her about the year our parents literally must have saved every penny they had to buy us this motorised police car and we were so obsessed with it we didn't open any of our other presents until the battery ran out and we were forced to come back inside.

"If I'm remembering correctly, I think we were still in our pajamas."

She laughs and I join in. "Sounds perfect."

"It was."

"So how come you and Will don't go to your parents' any more?"

"My mom died of cancer."

Erin's sharp intake of breath tells me she wasn't expecting that answer. "I'm sorry."

I shrug. "We don't really see our dad."

She studies me carefully but chooses not to ask any more questions and for that I'm grateful.

"I had one year when Santa paid a visit," she says, leaning back against the cushions. "I was about ten I think. Bunny had cleaned herself up a bit before and we got a tree, decorated it with these terrible paper decorations my brother and I made because we couldn't afford any baubles but it didn't matter to us. We thought it was the best tree there'd ever been."

I smile at her and she continues.

"Christmas morning came and my brother woke me up, jumping on my bed saying Santa had been. I didn't wanna get too excited you know - I mean, I'd had nine other Christmases where he hadn't - but when we went into the main room, there were two boxes under the tree; one for me and one for Teddy. I remember my mom waking up - she used to sleep on the couch because we only had one bedroom - with this huge smile on her face. She said she'd seen Santa and he told her to tell us we'd been really good this year but we had to wait until after we'd eaten our lunch before we could open the presents. I guess she wanted to stretch out the excitement."

Something tells me this story isn't going to end well but I'm so glad she's sharing it with me anyway. I watch as Erin curls up a leg underneath her. She stays staring straight ahead.

"Anyway, we helped her make the food. There was a little bit of stuffing from a box and some yams, no turkey or beef but we did have a roast chicken which neither of us had tasted before so it was this huge treat. I just remember thinking how lucky we were when we sat down to eat. Teddy was too excited to eat much but when we'd finished what was on our plates, Bunny said we could open the presents. I let Teddy go first and he got this science kit with stuff to make potions and do experiments; he was so happy."

"What was in your box?" I ask, turning my body so I'm facing her.

"Chuck E. Cheese's Pizza Factory."

"I remember that in the toy store," I tell her. "Was the pizza as bad as you'd imagine?"

"I don't know. I never got chance to use it. My mom's boyfriend at the time came home drunk and they had this big argument. We tried to defend her and as punishment, he broke our presents. Said it would teach us a lesson."

And there it is. I think my heart is cracking a little.

A lot, actually.

"Erin…"

"After that, I kind of got over the whole idea of celebrating Christmas." She shrugs like it's nothing and I'm so glad I decided to get her that gift. Figuring I should wait a little before I give it to her, I squeeze her leg, just above her knee and she turns her head to smile at me.

"I think I can fit some more of that dessert in now. Maybe with some coffee?"

It's my turn to smile and I rise from the couch but she stops me. "I'll get it."

X

It's grown dark outside and I've had a text from Will to say he's probably not going to be back until at least eight tonight. Erin has been asleep on the couch for the last half hour and I've used the time to dig out the gift I'd hidden in the linen closet. It's now waiting patiently under the tree for her to rouse but I'm reluctant to wake her when she's curled up like this.

It's only when a loud bang coming from one of my neighbour's apartment doors sounds that she stirs, and I coax her into the land of the conscious with a hand on her knee.

"Hey," she mumbles sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "How long was I out?"

"About a half hour."

"I blame your food," she half-whines (and it's damn near adorable) sitting up with a significant amount of effort. "Too good."

I grin and she spies the small box under the tree that wasn't there before. "The big man came while I was out huh?"

"That he did."

I leave the couch to grab the box and she seems genuinely surprised when I hold it out to her. There's a guilty look on her face and I have no idea why. "You shouldn't have got me anything."

Shrugging, I sit back on the couch. "It's Christmas. Besides, I saw it and thought of you."

"Actually," she seems to have gone a little shy. "I have something for you too."

She hops off of the couch and heads to the bedroom I haven't slept in for the past several nights. I try not to think about where the money she's used to pay for this gift has come from because I don't want to make this awkward. When Erin returns to the living room, she's holding a small gift bag with silver tissue paper poking out of it.

"I'm no good at wrapping," she says and I wonder whether she evens knows this; if she's barely received a gift before, what's to say she's ever given one? "But here."

I take the bag and pull out the paper first, revealing a travel mug. "I uh...noticed you're always rushing in a morning and sometimes you don't have time for the second cup of coffee I know you want."

It's true. How the hell does she even know this? "So uh...I thought if you had one of these, you could take it with you. Then you get your second cup."

It's kind of the most perfect gift I could ask for - and it's a damn coffee mug - but I love it because it's come from her and it's personal. "I'm sorry it's not much," she continues and I wrap her in a hug before she can finish because there's absolutely no way I'm going to let her think I don't love it.

"Thank you," I breathe into her hair, inhaling a mixture of burnt gravy and vanilla that's strangely nice. As soon as I start to feel her pull back, I release her and I know from the sparkle in her eyes that she wants to open her gift.

"Go ahead," I nod towards the box that's currently sitting on my coffee table. She tears the paper off like a child would and I smile. I just hope she likes it, though I worry now it's not personal enough.

"Jay," she gasps as she opens the box to find a silver bracelet. It's nothing too flashy: a simple flat band with a single twist halfway round but I walked past a jewelry store the other day, saw it in the window and immediately thought of her. "It's too much."

"No," I say, taking it out of the box to fix it round her wrist. "It's not."

She fingers the metal, tracing the band all the way to the twist, continuing on until she reaches the clasp again. I think I see tears in her eyes - the same kind I saw when I made her the cocoon of pillows the first time I brought her here - and I want more than anything for this to be a happy day for her.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She stares at me for what feels like ages and I watch her, trying to decide what she's going to do. In the end, she sits up and sucks in a breath. Whatever moment we just had passed, and I stand up, taking my travel mug to the sink ready to be washed and used in the morning.

"My parents always used to make us take a walk after we'd eaten a big meal," I tell Erin. "Stopped us getting sleepy too long before bedtime. Will and I used to hate it but since my mom died it's kind of been tradition on Christmas Day."

She smiles and I continue. "You fancy heading to the park?"

"Yeah," she replies. "Sounds good."

X

We're bundled up against the cold and I find that every so often, my arm bumps against Erin's and she leans in slightly closer to me. My hands are deep inside of my pockets as we walk towards the bean, our hot breaths mingling and dancing in elaborate patterns in the cold night air. It's quiet tonight: most people are obviously at home in the warmth and even though it's absolutely freezing out here, there's nowhere else I'd rather be at this moment. Now and again, Erin groans softly because she says she's eaten way too much and her stomach is protesting against all the carbs. I'm just glad she's eaten at all because I figure there will have been way too many times where other things came before food.

"I've never been here before," she sighs almost happily as we approach the city's most iconic sculpture. "It's nice to finally see it."

Turns out there's been a whole number of firsts for Erin Lindsay today then. "What do you think?" I ask.

"It's shiny."

I can't help but chuckle at her response but I guess that's probably the best adjective to describe the thing. "It is."

She turns to face me and for a moment, her features grow serious. "You gave me the best Christmas."

My heart hurts.

"Thank you Jay."

I don't know what to say. I just want her to be happy. And safe. And loved.

Before I can respond, she's on her tiptoes, hands (including the one with the bandage) resting against my chest so she can reach to kiss me. Her lips taste like honey as they land on mine softly and I want more. I wrap my arms around her back to hold her close and feel heat flare up my neck and spine as she opens her mouth a little wider to seal those gorgeous lips around mine. It takes a few seconds until my own lips move in response - I think they're stunned into position - but when they do I hear a soft moan in the back of Erin's throat and want nothing more than to hear that sound on repeat until I fall asleep.

After a while, we both run out of air and I release my hold on her. She sets back down on her heels with a glowing smile that displays both dimples. Boy, I'm in trouble because if she keeps looking at me like that, I'm going to lose control and forget why we can't do this - _yet_.

"Erin." My voice is hoarse and I have to clear my throat. She's reaching towards me again. "Erin."

"Yeah?"

"I want to do things right." There's a look of hurt flashing across her face and I'm quick to elaborate before she gets the wrong idea. "When you're set." I know she knows what I mean, but she still looks hurt. And I'm not ending the night like this. "Because I want to take you on a date."

At this, she offers a timid smile.

"And I want to do _that_ again." It grows wider and I match it with one of my own. "Come on."

I offer my arm and she takes it, linking hers inside and burrowing her hands into her pockets as she leans into me. I can't wait for that date.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - Hi guys. I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and that Santa was as kind to you as he was to me ;) Huge thanks as always for your wonderful reviews and kind words. Here's number 7 xxx**

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Let Me Love You

I'm woken by the sound of Erin's voice. It's early - I can tell by the type of light filtering in through the blinds - but that's not what makes the panic rise in my chest. It's her tone. And the way she's doubled over, clutching her abdomen.

"Jay," she says again and I can tell she's crying. "I think...I think I need to go to the hospital."

At that, I jump from the couch, flicking on the standing lamp beside me and good lord - _nothing_ could have prepared me for this. There are tears streaming down her face and the bottom of her t-shirt and pretty much the whole of her pajama shorts are stained red with blood. Her hand is clamped against her pelvic region and I think I know what's happening because I'm relying on my intuition, but I hope more than anything that I'm wrong.

"I'll get my coat," I tell her, doing something between a walk and a run to my bedroom where I know her winter coat is too. When I get to the doorway and turn on the light, my bed tells me everything I need to know: Erin's pregnant. And she's losing this baby.

A sort-of strangled noise reverberates in the back of my throat and I have no idea what it means but I need to hold it together because I'm almost certain she won't be able to. I throw the padded parka over my arm so that she'll be warm and covered over before pulling on my other coat, trying desperately not to look at the bed as I turn back around. The red against the white cotton makes me want to vomit.

When I get back to the living room, Erin is practically on her knees and all I want is for us to go back ten hours when we were walking in the park and everything seemed so full of promise. She barely looks at me as I drape the jacket around her, taking each one of her arms in turn so I can zip her up. Her feet are bare and even though we haven't got time to waste, I can't take her outside without anything protecting her skin from the cold, so I grab a thick pair of my boot socks that have been drying over the radiator and guide her to sit on the floor so I can pull them on her feet. There are still silent tears staining her cheeks and I have to swallow hard in order to keep myself from looking the same. I scoop her up in my arms, holding her against my chest so I can carry her out to my car. Erin's head is against my shoulder and I hear her suck in a breath as another wave of pain hits.

"Please Jay," my heart breaks at her words; at the look in her eyes. "Make it stop."

I hate the fact that I can't.

X

I think I might be glad that Will's not here; that the trade-off for being on call during Christmas Day is the following forty-eight hours away from this place with its awful smell and pathetic excuse for coffee. I've been in this waiting room for what feels like days - but in reality is probably only an hour or two - when the doctor finally comes looking for me. His expression and the way he sighs as he approaches is confirmation of the outcome and whatever his words are, I don't hear them because I'm too busy making my way towards where Erin is.

The problem with hospital waiting rooms is that they give you time to think. And all of my thoughts have been centred around when she must have found out. Was it when we were last here? Before that? While she was at the Primrose Centre? Was her being pregnant the reason she quit the drugs and alcohol? The reason she needed money? How far along was she? I don't want the answers.

She's staring straight ahead when I get there. There are no more tears and she's wearing one of those awful hospital gowns that make sick people look even sicker than they are. I feel the bile rise in my throat and struggle to keep it down. Her eyes flicker briefly to mine and I almost wish they hadn't.

"Erin…"

"Please don't," she whispers as I wrap my arms around her. Her lips are against my shirt, her words muffled by the fabric but I still make them out. "Don't say my name like that."

I kiss her hair over and over and over as I pour my own grief for this situation onto her. I want to say something but I don't know what, and all I know is that none of this is fair. She doesn't deserve this.

We stay like that for a bit - mostly because I just don't want to let her go - but after a while, she pulls back and I drop my arms to my sides. They feel empty. An awful silence hangs over us and I need to fill it with something. _Anything_.

"You were pregnant," I choke.

"I was," she answers in response, her voice wavering but ultimately, cold. "Guess it figured how much of a crappy mother I'd be and did itself a favour."

"Erin -"

"- Can you just leave me alone?"

"I don't think -"

"Just go!" she shouts and I don't know what's changed over the last ten seconds but I want to hit the rewind button. Really, I want to hit the rewind button and stop it a lot longer ago than ten seconds. "Please." Her voice is softer this time but if anything, that makes it worse.

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"I need you to." She's back to staring straight ahead and I know she's flipped a switch. I press a final kiss against her head and rise from my position on the edge of her bed, knowing all the while it's a bad decision. I leave her like she asks anyway.

It's nearly five when I get back to my apartment and the first thing I see is the Christmas tree, obnoxious and twinkling happily with lights despite its obvious flaws. I yank the cable from the socket and pull the string from the tree, dumping several baubles onto the carpet in the process. When the thing is dismantled and my floor is home to a green covering of needles, I make my way to the bedroom and haul the bedding from its twisted heap on top of the mattress. It goes into a black liner and when I see the result of the mattress, I punch the wall. That'll have to go too.

The alarm I have set on my phone signals 6am - the time I should get up for work - and I'm trapped in an internal debate over calling Voight to let him know what's happened and why I'm not coming to work, or throwing myself into whatever case we get because I know I can't stay here. The doctor at the hospital said Erin would be kept in for twenty-four hours and so I decide on work. Maybe by the time I'm done in the pen, I'll know what to do or say. More realistically though, that's just a hopeless ideal.

X

I start to regret my choice the minute I enter the pen and see Voight. He hauls me into his office, shuts the door and tells me in no uncertain terms that I'm compromising this team. I say nothing, tighten my jaw and wait for him to finish his tirade but right as he's halfway through telling me I've created a shitload of a balancing act for myself, he stops, reads my eyes and tells me to sit down. What he tells me next makes my decision to come in worth it.

"About fifteen years ago, Camille and I took in a young girl." I swallow hard because in all of the time I've known Voight, he's mentioned his wife probably a handful of times, and all I know is that she died and I don't think he's ever gotten over it. Whatever he's about to tell me, it's big. "Her name was Nadia. Long story short, I'd booked her a few times for all the usual offences: theft, solicitation, drugs. But there was something about her I couldn't shake, like if we helped her, she'd make it, even with the crappy upbringing she'd had. And you know what Halstead?"

His eyes are wide, he's flicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek and I feel so uncomfortable that I just want to get the hell out of this office. But I need to know what he has to say. Need to know that this girl made it. I realise he's waiting for me to respond.

"What?"

"She _did_ make it."

I sigh in relief and I know I need to get to Erin. But then comes the hammer blow.

"And the moment I left her alone because I thought she could manage, she got killed by her ex dealer. I've hated myself ever since."

"Sarge -"

"- I don't want you to live with that feeling. You're in too deep now for there to be two options, so whatever happened last night, listen to me now. Your only option is to be there. Whether she wants you to or not, whether she screams at you to leave, you be there."

I think it's the best advice anyone has ever given me. And it's come from Hank Voight of all people. "I will, sir." I rise and just as I reach the door, he calls me again.

"Halstead?"

"Yeah?"

"I _understand_ , but you need to understand _me_ when I say that you still have a job to do."

I nod and leave his office.

X

When I reach the hospital after my shift, Erin is clad in the coat I brought her in last night and a pair of pants that are neither hers nor mine. I frown but she ignores me as I stand awkwardly at the edge of her bed.

"They said I can take you home."

"Great," she replies, voice devoid of all emotion. That switch she flipped last night is still off.

"You all set?"

"I guess."

"Look, Erin -"

She sighs and it interrupts my words. Her eyes won't meet mine and when I reach to touch her, she backs away. I drop my hand and shift my weight from one foot to the other before she speaks.

"Let's go."

The car ride is silent because I have no idea what to say to her to make her feel any better and it doesn't seem like she wants me to say anything anyway. When she figures that by _home_ I meant my apartment and not hers, Erin tells me to stop the car and she'll walk the rest of the way. If she thinks I'd oblige, she's incredibly mistaken.

"Jay, I said, stop the car." Her teeth are gritted and I don't know whether it's from pain or anger. It's probably both.

"No."

" _No_?"

"No."

"You don't get to make my decisions. I want to go home. To _my_ apartment."

"Do you?" I reply, suddenly willing to convey my exasperation with her. "Or do you just not want to go back to my place because of what happened there?"

I think I might have gone too far and this is confirmed by the venom in her reply. "Fuck you!"

I keep driving towards my place anyway because it's cold and dark and like hell am I going to cave. There's a small internal victory when I park up out front and she leaves the car with me, gritting her teeth with every step to my front door.

We go inside but she doesn't remove the shoes she's wearing - I figure when the hospital was decking her out in a new outfit, they sprung for footwear too - heading straight to my bedroom where I know she's going to see the mattress. I haven't had time to get a new one yet.

"Erin, don't..."

She's back out again within a minute, clutching the few items of clothing she's been keeping in my closet over the past few days. Her purse is slung over her shoulder, her eyes never meeting mine as she walks to the kitchen counter. I watch silently as she places the six $50 bills I gave her in a semi-neat pile on the granite and swallow as she looks up - but not at me.

"I don't need your money any more."

 _Oh God_. The _stuff_ she was working for was for the baby. I think I might want to jump out of my window with shame for the way I judged her.

"Erin please -"

"Thank you for the ride."

I can't believe I almost let her get out of the door before my body springs into a late reaction and I manage to take hold of her arm.

"Don't leave. Not like this."

She scoffs and cocks an eyebrow reminiscent of when I first met her. "What are we going to do? Play house forever? Or at least until you're fed up of having me as your project?"

I feel sick. Like I might actually throw up right here, right now. "You're not…" I can't find the right words. I don't think there are any. "I just…" She makes to pull out of my grasp and I relent because I can't just let her walk away. "At least let me drive you there."

X

A few days pass without me seeing Erin and I don't think I've felt an emptiness like this - not even when my mother died. I've been to her apartment but she won't let me in, my only consolation being the "Go away!" she's shouted each time. At least I know she's alive. Each time I leave the pen on an evening, Voight tells me to keep calling round, keep checking in and it kind of pisses me off because there must be a part of him that thinks I wouldn't.

I call in for chinese take out on my way over to her apartment tonight, partly because I haven't eaten all day and partly because I'm hoping the smell of egg rolls will encourage her to open the door. My car smells pretty horrific by the time I make it to Englewood but if my plastic bag of oil-laden goodies isn't enough to coax her tonight, at least my stomach won't be so painful with hunger. Most people's bodies can't bare food when they're stressed or worried. I think mine might be the opposite.

Both relieved and disappointed to see the buzzers still haven't been fixed and therefore the front door is still unlocked, I make my way up to Erin's floor, staying clear of touching any surface other than her front door. There's light peeping out from under it and I give silent thanks to God that she's home and I don't have to repeat that night before Christmas when I scoured the worst parts of the city looking for her.

I knock, and when I don't get the obligatory "go away," I knock again, but louder. She still doesn't grace me with her presence and so I bring out the big guns.

"I have egg rolls."

I huff at her lack of response but continue, again, louder. "And Gong Bao chicken!"

At that, I expect to see the door open tentatively but it doesn't and I feel a sense of panic start to rise.

"Erin?" My knocking becomes more frantic and I start kicking the door with my foot. If she's in there and can hear me, she'll definitely come out in a bid not to start a noise war with her neighbours. And yet, there's no appearance.

I practically throw down the take out and use my body to break the lock. The damn thing is as flimsy as I expected, and it only takes two good shoves of my weight to snap the chain and break in.

"Erin?" I shout, making my way down the short space of hallway and into the main room.

There are no words to explain how I feel when I see her. Curled almost into the foetal position on the kitchen floor, her eyes are barely open and there's vomit trailing from her mouth to the floor. Her skin is grey and clammy and her breathing is so slow and shallow that I almost overlook the fact that she's still alive because she looks anything but.

I gabble an emergency call down my cell and then scoop the vomit from her mouth to clear her airway. I only realise when I see my hands that I'm shaking, but I continue to clean her up as best I can, my heart thudding in my ears as the shame that I wasn't here to stop her washes over me.

I don't register the paramedics until I'm being forcibly moved away from her but once they've got her on a stretcher with an oxygen mask covering her face, I finally look around at the rest of her apartment. There are far too many empty bottles of hard liquor and I spy two empty aspirin bottles on the counter. The paramedics are wheeling her out of the door before I demand them to let me go with her. One of the women looks questioningly at me but I flash my badge and she okays it with a curt nod. I think the ride to the hospital is the longest one of my life.

X

"Jay?"

I jump, realising I must have fallen asleep in the chair beside Erin's bed and when I look up, I see her green eyes flickering over my face as if they're taking in every detail.

"Thank God," I breathe, standing up and running a hand through my hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead seemingly all at once. "I didn't know if you were going to -"

"- My throat's sore," she cuts in as if knowing what I'm about to say and needing to end it before I do. I reach for the water and ice chips beside her bed, holding the cup to her lips so she can use the straw.

"They had to pump your stomach."

At that, she stops sipping, closes her eyes for a few seconds, and then takes another sip again. "You found me."

"Did the nurses tell you that?"

She dips her head. "I uh...I heard your voice. Just...I couldn't move anything."

"Erin…"

"I didn't mean for you to find me," she chokes, and I see a couple of tears begin to spill over and down her cheeks. "I just….it hurts so much."

I perch on the edge of her bed and wrap her in my arms, whether she wants to be held or not. It doesn't matter what she wants anymore because I decide in this moment, I'll give her whatever she needs. I feel her weight sag against my chest and with my right hand, I reach to stroke her hair as she cries into my shirt and I feel my world start to come into focus for the first time in the past three days.

"I wanted to make it stop," she whispers, and a lump in the back of my throat makes it almost impossible to breathe.

"I know."

I rock her a little, backwards and forwards as her tears soak the cotton I'm wearing and my lips come to a rest on her crown. I don't know how long we stay like that for, but even when I know her breaths have evened out signalling sleep, I keep her in my arms because I simply can't let go again. I won't.

X

There's more of a lightness in my step now that I know Erin's safely back at the Primrose Centre - through her own volition. I'm suiting up with Ruzek, Atwater and Olinksy in the locker room when I think back to a week ago when I dropped her off after she told me she wanted to get better.

" _I'll be here when you get out."_

" _I know." She says the words but her feet aren't moving. We're still in the parking lot. "Can we just...wait a minute?"_

 _We can wait a hundred minutes, I don't care. Because I know eventually, she'll walk inside of that centre, get herself better and we'll start something. I think, maybe, we already have. "Of course."_

 _She sighs and I feel her fingers shift so they're clutching the hemline of my shirt. I say nothing, but feel a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. She doesn't want to let go - I can tell - but after a while she pulls back and starts to walk towards the entrance._

 _The walls and floors are bright white and it kind of hurts my eyes, but there's also a sense of calm; there's peace here. I think, more than anything, that's what she needs. Erin turns herself into me and closes her eyes, leaning against my chest and so I wrap my arms around her to keep her close. She inhales deeply and I do the same, taking in a mixture of the vanilla scent of her hair; my own deodorant because I forgot to bring hers from her apartment when I went to get her stuff; and the moisturiser she's wearing. It's the best combination and one I'm desperate to experience again but under different circumstances. Better circumstances._

" _You can do this baby," I whisper against her hair and she nods softly, sniffing back her tears and offering the tiniest of smiles before she walks away from me and along the corridor. I stay until I can no longer see her - and then a good fifteen minutes after that._

"Yo Halstead!" Atwater says loudly, and I figure I must have blanked him the first time because he's waving a hand in front of my face. "You with us?"

"Uh yeah. Sorry."

"You got your mind elsewhere? Cos right now, it needs to be on this case."

"It's on the case." I reply, and stand up in offering that I'm ready. "Let's go."

We drive to McKinley Park, heading for the lagoon where two bodies had been found earlier today. They'd been bound, gagged and had multiple gunshots; identification showing they were two brothers already known to the police for past drug-related crimes. There's been a short respite in the bitter cold weather we've been having and I'm actually grateful for the rain that's pouring tonight.

As we're approaching West 37th and South Damen Avenue, Olinksy spots a young hooded male running away from the direction of the park. Atwater slows to a crawl and then we see another man also running in the same direction while trying to shove what looks like a weapon down the back of his pants. I think Olinksy and I are out of the car before it's even stopped. He yells for the two of them to freeze but the one closest to us turns to shoot before running. We give chase.

I round the corner first, closely followed by Olinksy and though I can't see the first guy, I shout for the other to drop his weapon. When he doesn't, I issue the warning: we _will_ shoot. The guy keeps running and I have no choice but to follow through with the threat. I'm drawing my weapon when I feel a searing pain rip through my chest as I fall to the ground.

I know instantly what's happened as ringing fills my ears and my vision begins to cloud. I can hear Olinksy shouting my name and I want to tell him to keep chasing but I can't get the words to leave my mouth because the pain in my chest is growing as a wet warmth coats my skin.

The bullet got through the vest.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N - Wow! You reviewers are so kind and I love you all for taking the time to respond to what I've written. I've said it before but your words of encouragement and support really do mean a lot :) I feel kinda bad that I left you on a cliff-hanger last chapter but this one is longer and will hopefully make up for it.**

 **If you enjoy, drop a little review at the end ;) x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

I feel as though I've been hit by a bus. And then run over. And then dragged for about ten blocks. I know though, based on the smell and the flashback I've just had that I am, in fact, in the hospital because I was shot. I let my eyes flicker open and I shut them against the harsh brightness immediately. They really should make the lighting softer in these places.

Just as I'm drifting back off to the sound of my own heart monitor, a sleepy mumble that didn't come from me makes my eyes twitch back open in a mixture of surprise, hope and confusion.

"Erin?"

The mumble turns into a whine which turns into a stretch and when she finally opens her eyes, blinks a few times against the light and refocuses, I'm rewarded with the kind of smile that makes being shot kinda worth it. The dimples are back.

"You're awake."

"I...what are you doing here?" I have no idea how long I've been out, what day or time it is, but I'm pretty sure I remember dropping the girl in front of me off at the rehab centre around a week ago. Which means she's checked out. Again.

"It's not what you think," she replies, as if reading my internal monologue. "Your… uh...your boss? Hank? came to see me actually."

"Voight?" Stupid question; I only have the one boss named Hank.

"He told me you'd been shot. Said you'd wouldn't want me to think you just hadn't come to see me."

I smile despite the pain that's beginning to worsen because the man was so right. I definitely owe him a beer for that one. Probably more.

"They said it was pretty bad. There was a chance you might not've…" she shakes her head as though it will rid her of the thought. "I just wanted to come and see you."

Other than Christmas Day, I think this is the most she's ever said. I forgot how perfect her voice is when she's not high or drunk or angry or upset. When she's just Erin. "You're in pain," she says sadly.

"It's okay."

"These lines don't say that." Her voice is almost a whisper as she reaches out to trace what must be frown lines around my eyes and across my forehead. Her touch is a mixture of fire and ice and I don't know whether I feel hot or cold or both but I love it and I don't want her to stop. My eyes close involuntarily and she continues, working down to my jaw which has become so slack I think I might be drooling.

Right when I think I might be drifting back off, I hear someone with a distinctively gravelly voice clear their throat. Erin stops her movements and I open my eyes lazily. It's Voight. Turns out he gives and takes away just as quickly. The thought kind of makes me smile.

"Halstead,"

"Sir," I return, and my voice sounds embarrassingly relaxed. This girl is better than meds.

"I'll...go get some coffee," Erin tells us, forcing herself out of the chair she's been occupying. "Can I get one for you guys?"

"We drink enough," My boss replies and she offers him a small smile. "But thank you."

She nods and with one last look at me as if to check I'm still here, she turns to leave. Can you love someone this quickly? I think, as she exits the room leaving that scent of vanilla I've come to know and crave behind, that you can.

Voight doesn't take the seat Erin has vacated. Instead, he stands, tensing and relaxing his jaw like always, his hands resting in his jacket pocket.

"You had us worried there for a minute."

"Just a minute?" I try and joke but when Erin's not around to distract me from the pain, my smile comes out as more of a grimace.

"Maybe two," he concedes. "Everyone's been waiting for news. I'd be surprised if there's any coffee left in that drinks machine."

Everyone's been here? For how long? "How long have I been out?"

"A couple days."

 _Jeez_. "They must have had me on some heavy-duty painkillers."

"You had surgery. Bullet got you good."

"Did Olinsky get him?"

Voight smiles and it's almost creepy. "Of course." I think I like tense Voight better.

It's quiet for a moment before I ask the only question that matters.

"How's Erin?"

"Aside from bathroom breaks and right now, she hasn't left that chair."

I don't know what to say. Voight sighs and adds on, "I figured you'd want her to know there was a reason you wouldn't be visiting."

"Thank you." The words come out in a cracked whisper because this pain really is something else. I need Erin to come back and distract me, but I force the next question out because he hasn't really given me an answer to the one I asked. "How is she Hank?"

He knows he has to answer honestly; we very rarely use first names. "Getting there. Says she's fine when I ask but her hands give her away."

I nod because speaking has used pretty much every ounce of energy I have and my boss seems to get it. "I'll let the others know they can go home and get some rest." He looks at me pointedly. "Make sure you do the same."

I nod again and I'm left alone for all of around two minutes before the woman occupying all of my thoughts comes back. It's only when she sits back down and offers me the most tired smile I've probably ever seen that I realise how exhausted she must be. The memories of the last time we were in this place - and the time before that - can't help either.

"You okay?" I grit out, glad I saved the words for her and not Voight. Either she needs to run her fingers over my face again or someone needs to turn up this damn morphine drip. I know which I'd prefer.

She nods, stifling a yawn and my arms ache to hold her. As if she senses it, she scoots her chair so close it's touching the bed, reaching out with her finger trips to trace away the lines on my face again. I think I feel her press a kiss to my temple before I'm out.

X

The next time I wake, there's less pain and the light doesn't seem quite so harsh. My brother is busy checking my chart and reading the stats displayed by my heart monitor, but pauses briefly to welcome me back to the land of the conscious before telling me he's turned up the dose of morphine. He doesn't need to tell me he's been worried; the expression he's wearing and the way he pats my shoulder is testament to how grateful he is that I'm still here. Nobody would cook him Christmas lunch if I wasn't.

"She hasn't left."

I turn my head to the right and see Erin asleep in the chair, her little finger hooked around my sheet making me smile. Girl obviously has no regard for visiting hours and I can't help but grin; I can only imagine what she must've said to whichever doctor suggested she go home. I'm going to have to get her to back to the centre though - I won't be the one to jeopardise her recovery.

Right on cue, she mumbles softly, groans and then opens her eyes tentatively. I think I might want to watch her wake up like that again. In my bed. At this point, I'm neither shocked nor ashamed by the realisation.

"Hey," she rasps, uncurling her finger from the sheet so she can conduct her own examination. I like hers best. "You look better than before."

"I feel better."

"That's good," she smiles. Her fingers pause their ministrations and I'm disappointed. Nothing feels as good as her touch. It's quiet for a moment as Erin stares at the patched-up hole in my chest. My throat suddenly feels tight.

"When can I get out of here?" I ask Will.

"Providing all tests and vitals are good. Probably tomorrow. Maybe the next day."

"Sounds good."

"You should probably stay with me for a week. You're gonna struggle on your own."

As much as I love my brother, I need my own space. My apartment's small enough that it's not going to be that hard to get to the bathroom or the kitchen from the couch. "I'll be okay."

" _Jay_ ," His tone is warning.

"I've been shot before. I can manage."

My brother swallows and eyes me sceptically. "We'll see." That means he can't make me stay with him but he does _not_ like my preferred option. He writes a couple more things on my chart, asks me if I need anything and I shake my head, no, and then excuses himself from the room.

"Let me look after you," Erin says softly.

I shake my head. "I'm fine. I'll _be_ fine. You need to be at the Primrose Centre."

"No, Jay-"

"-Erin, you need to focus on _you_ getting better. You've seen the size of my apartment - it's not far to get to anywhere."

She drops her head and when she looks back up, I find it difficult to swallow. "I just…" there are tears in her eyes and I reach to wipe them away with my thumb. She sighs at my touch and I keep my hand there, just holding her. "I just want to be where you are."

And that's that. She's coming home with me.

"Okay," I whisper and out of everything she could do in this moment, I don't expect the flood of tears. I'm not quite sure why she's crying but I can't comfort her properly like this and so I drop my hand from her face, using every last ounce of strength I have to shift my body across to the far edge of the bed. "C'm here."

She crawls delicately on top of the sheets, lying on her side but I tug her closer, wrapping my right arm around her body as best I can. It's not particularly easy, and my left arm doesn't do much other than lay there, but it seems enough as Erin buries her face in my neck, her tears and eyelashes tickling my skin.

I'm not sure how long we stay like that, but after a while, the tears finally cease and I can tell from her even breaths that she's asleep. I press my lips to her crown and she shifts slightly, burrowing closer - if it's even possible. The last thing I think before succumb to slumber is that her hair still smells like vanilla and I want to drift off every night with that scent invading my nose.

X

"For the record, I don't like this," Will states as I clench my fist in an attempt not to betray how much it hurts to put on the jacket Erin is helping me into.

"We can manage," I reply, managing the other sleeve a little better.

He's unrelenting. "You'll need to keep a clean dressing on though; I can come over after my shifts each night."

"You really don't need to do that."

"I've had a bit of practice," Erin adds in somewhat self-consciously, "There were a few times I've needed...patching."

I reach my hand out to her arm because she's never told me this and though I have no right, I think I might be jealous that she's shared this information with the both of us. I know it's irrational but I can't help it; I'm greedy when it comes to her. A small smile tugs at her lips when she looks at me and I notice Will's less-than-discreet glance in my direction.

"I'll come anyway," he says. I think it's more than just my not staying at his apartment that he doesn't like; I need to get out of here.

Erin's just reaching to grab my stuff when Voight enters the room wearing his usual pissed-at-the-world expression and leather jacket combo.

"You ready to go?" he asks and I frown.

"Thanks for the lift," Erin tells my boss and I'm thrown off guard because the two of them seem to have struck up some sort of strange relationship that I'm not entirely comfortable with while I was unconscious. "Hank said he'd drop us at your place," she tells me. They're on first-name terms. Wow.

"Okay," I hear myself reply before I grit my teeth in preparation for the wave of pain I know is going to come when I start walking.

"You sure you don't want a wheelchair?" Will asks and I shake my head determinedly. I'll get shot again before they stick me in one of those things.

"Let's go," Voight announces, eyeing me in suspicion. I'm not sure what he's looking to find, but I don't miss the setting of his jaw when he looks toward Erin and then back at me. I'm pretty sure we both saw the clenching of her hands to try and stem the shaking. His voice is low in my ear when he speaks again. "You sure this is a good idea Halstead?"

No. But we're doing it anyway. "I'm sure."

He doesn't reply, just takes me under his arm so my weight is on him and we head out. I'm pretty sure the only thing I'll miss about this place is waking up with Erin beside me.

When we reach my building with Voight having driven as though we're in a high-speed chase, I'm feeling the morphine wear off and the sickness creep up. I've been shot before but this time it's _really_ painful and looking up at the set of stairs to my floor, I start to think that another night in hospital might not have been the worst thing in the world. Still, I've made my figurative bed and now I've gotta lie in it.

"Hey," I feel Erin's hand on my arm and hear the concern in her voice before I crane my neck to look at her. From the state of her bloodshot eyes, I can tell she's not getting anywhere near enough sleep and I know a huge part in the early stages of helping her recover is sleeping through the symptoms of withdrawal as much as possible. We need to fix this. "You okay?"

I nod blindly, almost having forgotten she'd begun talking. "I'm fine."

"I'll make you some soup when we get up there," she says and a small chuckle escapes my lips. I groan at the pain it elicits.

"Don't make me laugh."

She raises a single brow at me in a playful dare to push her further. I want her like this all of the time. "You have no idea."

I'm almost certain she's right.

X

It turns out, Erin's idea of _making soup_ is running to the store on the next block, buying a carton and heating it in the microwave. I want to laugh again when I hear the ping and the curse she drops when she obviously picks up the bowl without a teatowel or oven gloves, but I wait semi-patiently for her to bring it to me with a glass of water and my painkillers.

Voight helped me up the stairs and onto the couch but since then, it's just been me and Erin and considering she's got her own stuff going on, she has a remarkably considerate bedside manner. I probably (okay, _definitely_ ) shouldn't be running the naughty nurse fantasy I've got playing in my head right now, but it's too late to put a stop to it. Besides, until those pain meds kick in, I need something to distract me from the agony of the hole in my chest. Erin Lindsay in a tight white uniform with a stethoscope, ready and willing to check my pulse will do that, apparently - even if it is just in my head.

"You comfortable?" she asks, sitting on the coffee table so she doesn't rock the couch cocoon I've got going on.

"I'm good."

"Okay then." She hops up and I'm disappointed. "I'll just clear up."

The fact that she has _anything_ to clear up when all she's done is empty the liquid from a carton into a bowl makes me smile way more than it should. But I still want her here. Where I can see her.

"Erin?"

"Yeah?"

"Come join me."

"Let me just -"

"- Come join me," I repeat, a little more insistently this time. She does without any further protest, tentatively settling herself on the other end of the couch as I flick on the tv. We settle on an old Friends re-run because I prefer the background noise and I know Erin hasn't seen many episodes anyway, and I eat my soup which kinda tastes like cardboard. She seems satisfied with my clean bowl when I place it on the coffee table and I reach for the feet she has tucked under her legs in a bid to warm them up. The girl has wonderfully warm hands but on the odd occasion I've touched her feet, I've discovered them to be ice-like.

"What are you doing?" she asks as I take her left foot between my hands and begin kneading. "You're supposed to be resting."

"I am."

"Giving me a foot massage is not resting."

"Do I look like I'm in pain?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in that signature expression of hers I love so much. Her answering 'hmmm' isn't so much as a reply, more conceding that I'm not wrong, and when she shifts carefully so that her other foot is in my lap and under the covers too, I break into a smile.

My fingers work her feet until her breathing grows shallower and her eyes drop closed, continuing even when I feel my own eyes start to become heavy with fatigue. My thumbs are massaging more and more lazily but I lift one eyelid just enough to check on Erin, and upon seeing her out for the count, I slow to a stop and let my own eyes close.

We're woken by an offensive banging on my apartment door. I rouse first, just enough to register the noise before Erin manages to extract her feet from my lap in a careful fluid motion.

"I got it," she states, her voice husky and rough from sleep. The door rattles again and she calls out with expletives dirty enough to make me chuckle. She's really something else. Erin opens the door and I hear Lexi before I see her but I can't turn round because I'm practically swaddled in blankets. I want Erin to get her out, lock the door and cocoon us back under the covers again. Instead however, I have a semi-concerned but extremely pissed-looking blonde standing in front of me.

"Oh my God Jay, I just heard. Are you okay? I can't believe you got shot! Was it your chest?" I think there are more questions but her pitch is hurting my head and I can't see Erin anywhere. I desperately want to hear her drop a coffee mug or demand to know why Lexi is here or anything really that'll tell me she's still here.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You need these blankets off? They're too tight, you need room to move." She's tugging none-too-gently at the little safe haven Erin has made me and I just want her to get off.

"It's fine Lex, I'm comfortable like this."

"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt? I had to find out from someone else! Can I get you anything? Soup? Coffee? Take out? I could make that lasagna you like?"

"He's good," I hear Erin's voice in the small gap of silence Lexi has finally left, and I'm so grateful for the sound. I probably shouldn't slightly enjoy the fact that I can detect a hint of jealousy in her tone. Still, I kind of do. I can't see her, but I know she must be standing behind the couch because I watch Lexi appraise her from head to toe and back again with a look of utter disdain.

"I heard you'd hooked up with some stripper-hooker-druggie but I didn't believe it," she says, practically spitting the words out. "You really want to lower your standards _that_ much?"

"Get out."

She looks shocked. Like I've just stabbed her or something. "What?!"

"You heard me."

"Jay…"

I twist and make to get up because she's not leaving fast enough but pain sears through my chest and down my side. I wince at my mistake but grit my teeth. "Thank you for your concern." The words don't sound even remotely truthful. "But you need to leave now."

I know the look she's just cast over my shoulder is aimed at Erin and I'm sorry I can't protect her from it, but Lexi finally does as I ask. It's not before a final parting comment though. "He'll leave you know." Her voice is low and bitter. "When he's done playing your hero."

The door slams and I have no idea whether it's as a result of Erin's hand or Lexi's but I find myself holding my breath for a good ten seconds until the former sits down on the other end of the couch, hands shaking and trembling breath revealing how much my ex-girlfriend's words have cut.

"I'm not playing at anything," I say before Erin can tell me she's going to leave in a bid to get there first. I need to make this okay. "I want you here."

The shaky breath she lets out before she looks at me tells me she wants to believe me - but she's not a hundred percent sure. I don't know how to convince her otherwise. Her voice is a whisper and I'm pretty sure the tone will torture me for many night to come. "You sure? I can leave - no questions asked; no hard feelings."

I hate that she's giving me an out; that she even feels the need to say it. "Erin," I take her hand in mine and squeeze a little. "You have _no idea_ how much I want you here."

A small smile tugs at her lips and there's a hint of those dimples either side. I can't help but return the expression, only, I'm pretty sure my smile is wider.

"You tired?" she asks in obvious reaction to the yawn that cuts short my grin.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Then sleep," she replies in an almost-whisper. "I'll be around."

I manage to tug her back down as she starts to rise from the couch and even though the action pulls painfully at my stitches, it has the desired effect when she tumbles back onto the leather a little clumsily. "Stay with me?"

She nods and rearranges the blankets so that she's trapped inside of them too, her knees resting against my thigh as I adjust my position carefully. She can rest her head against my shoulder this way, which is what she does before we both close our eyes again.

X

I wake to a crash, followed by Erin's dirty mouth cursing expletives at one of my kitchen cabinets. I figure she must have dropped something pretty heavy and I'd make a joke but a wave of pain washes over me so fast that I almost vomit there and then.

"Erin? " I manage to croak and whatever mess she's making is abandoned in favour of rushing over to the couch, a concerned look in her eyes.

"You okay?"

"I need some of those meds."

She glances at the clock on the wall and bites her bottom lip. I want to kiss away the gnaw marks she's left. "You've gotta wait another hour."

I groan and she uses her thumb to trace the lines around my eyes. It's a decent consolation prize. "I'm so sorry I woke you."

"It's okay."

"Not when you feel like this it isn't."

She perches gingerly on my coffee table but keeps her thumb - and therefore, the rest of her hand - on my face. I rather enjoy concerned Erin.

"What were you doing in the kitchen anyway?" I ask.

"Uh, trying to make you dinner. But you don't really have any ingredients and I can't really cook so...figured I might find a takeout menu somewhere."

The fact that she thinks I would need a menu to pick my order makes me smile. Same thing every time.

"You tell me what you want to eat and I'll tell you what options you've got."

"You know _every_ item on the takeout menus?" Her eyebrow is cocked in that sceptical figurative _go on then: prove it_ that I adore on her. I match her expression and she laughs. Her hand though, despite the playful banter, is still tracing comforting patterns on my skin. "Deep dish pizza."

"Please," I scoff, but it's accompanied with a wince because the movement pulls at my stitches. "Cheese, Chicago Special, Meat and More Meat, Spinach, Super Veggie, Bacon BBQ Chicken or Chicken Sausage Deluxe. You want the list of extra toppings too?"

Erin's mouth is partly open in impressed surprise but she's not done testing me. "Maybe I'd prefer Thai."

Call me skeptical but something tells me this girl has never ordered Thai in her life. I'm guessing Englewood specialises more in fried chicken but I accept her challenge willingly. "Category?"

She smirks and places the hand that isn't tracing my forehead on my knee. I think the temperature just jumped ten degrees. "Appetisers."

 _Easy_. "Cream cheese crab rangoon, shrimp egg rolls, vegetable spring rolls, satay chicken, duck wonton, spicy be-"

"-Mexican," she cuts in and I think this is the strangest foreplay I've ever had but for some ridiculous reason, it's undoubtedly the hottest. If I didn't have this damn hole in my chest, I'm pretty sure she'd be in my lap by now and my hands would be buried in those dark blonde waves of hair that smell like vanilla on a winter's day.

"At least make it a challenge baby," I goad, but she drops her hands from my body and the pain in my chest registers immediately. There's this look in her eyes I can't decipher. I think there's a wall going up and I silently curse myself for the term of endearment slip. She inhales deeply, composes herself so there's now an expression of indifference on her face, and offers a small smile. "Burrito?"

"Chilli beef, chicken, black bean veggie or pork."

"What do you want?"

"I'll take a chilli beef one. Extra cheese and no lime."

"You know the number?"

I give her it and Erin orders two of what I asked for and instead of waiting either on the couch or the coffee table, she sets about tidying the pan explosion she accidentally set off earlier. I miss her already.

X

Will comes and goes, having redressed my wound right after Erin and I finished the burritos she ordered. It turns out, when he'd suggested I somehow get washed, that I'm grateful for his insistence that he be the one to patch me back up. Something tells me that if the girl in the other room were to be the one giving me a sponge bath, that awkwardness from earlier would likely ramp up another notch. Or ten. It doesn't stop me from creating the fantasy in my head though.

I glance at the clock and even though it only reads 9pm, with the pain in my chest and the weirdness I've manage to create, it feels a hell of a lot later. Erin sees me stifling a yawn. "You're tired. You should get some rest."

I don't disagree but suddenly, my bed seems a hundred miles away from this couch. There's no way I can make it down the hall on my own.

"I'll give you a hand," she states, crossing to where I'm sitting. The concerned expression from earlier is back but she doesn't look me in the eye so I grab her hand when she's close enough. My touch might be a little rough because she gasps but it's not one of pain - she's surprised. "Erin…"

"Let's get you into bed."

"Erin." My clearer voice and tightening grip finally get her to look at me.

"What?"

"You know what."

It's a good minute before she speaks and her cracked words surprise me. "I don't want to be dependent on you."

" _What_?"

"When we were outside the centre, before you got shot, you called me baby. I wanted to hear you say it again."

I'm confused. I _have_ said it again. But she continues on by way of explanation. "And it made me realise I like you Jay, so much. And, not just because of what you've done for me although that has a lot to do with it. But if I lose you then I'm done." She shakes her head. "I don't have anyone who's gonna pick me up and put me back together like you did, and I know for sure _I_ won't be able to."

I think there are tears pooling behind her eyelids but she doesn't let them fall and I still don't let her hand out of mine because this wall she's building is already about twenty feet high and topped with barbed wire. At the moment, her skin on mine is my only lifeline to get through to her. If I tell her I love her now, she's not gonna hear it; not going to believe me and so I choose my words carefully - probably more carefully than I ever have in my life. But the only words that don't get stuck in my throat are, "Please stay."

We stare at each other for a long time. It's not one of those looks that feel like it's been ages but in reality is only a couple of seconds; this one conveys every word neither of us dare say aloud. I watch desperately as Erin takes her bottom lip between her teeth, but then she nods and this weird sensation in my chest makes me feel as though it's going to explode.

Nothing does. She simply helps me to a standing position and we take tentative steps down the hall to my bedroom.

Erin freezes when she opens the door to flick on the light. I'd be grateful for the rest because _lord_ , the pain in my chest is _agonising_ , but compared to the way she's eyeing the bed and everything it represents since the last time she was in here, it's nothing.

I've got a new bed. I don't need to tell her that: the mahogany frame and dark blue sheets are a stark contrast to what was there before and do all the speaking for me. She sniffs, takes a breath and we continue towards it. I'm not wearing a shirt - couldn't bare the pain of putting one on after Will had changed the dressing but somehow I'm gonna have to get these jeans off. I think we both know I can't do it on my own.

"Where are your -"

"- Third drawer on the left."

She pulls open my drawer of sleeping attire and grabs the pair sitting on top before making her way back round to me. I manage my belt buckle (I'm not going to subject either of us to that torment) but getting the jeans down my legs and off is a different story. Her hands tug carefully and they're pooled around my ankles in seconds. I wish the fact that she's done this before - but to paying customers - hasn't crept into my head. It has though.

"Can you sleep in those?" she asks, references my boxers and hell yes I can because whether they're a day old or not, they're not coming off under these circumstances.

"Yeah."

With some careful rocking on my part and gentle tugging on Erin's, I'm finally clothed for bed and so she draws the covers back, her eyes sticking on the centre of the mattress. We say nothing as she helps me recline against the pillows she builds up against the wooden headboard but when she makes to exit my room with an "I'll be on the couch if you need me," my tongue finally spurs into action.

"Stay here."

"The couch is fi-"

"- I want you here. Next to me." I leave out it's so I know she's safe. So I know _I'm_ safe from her leaving.

Her nod is small. "Okay."

After turning off the tv and the lights in the living room, she heads to the bathroom with one of my t-shirts and a pair of boot socks. I hadn't had to remind her which drawers they live in and the thought alone keeps me from calling out to check she's still here.

When she comes back to me, body covered as far down as her thighs, I think for a moment that she's going to run. But then she climbs under the sheets, flicks the lamp off and we just lie there in the dark until her shaky voice cuts through the silence enveloping us.

"You got a new bed." Her voice is a whisper.

"I hated the old one."

I feel her little finger hook under the waistband of my pajama pants and I'm worried I'm going to have to stop her but then she curls the material around her skin so she's hooked in place. Tethered. She's got me. _She's not leaving_. "Me too."

"How long had you known?" I chance.

There's a long pause and I figure she's not going to answer, but then, "Not long enough not to ruin it."

I reach with my hand to cover hers. There's no way to respond to that. "It's probably for the best though," she says. Somehow, I'm not sure.

We lie still, her finger still curled into and around the fabric of my pajamas and my hand still resting on top of hers. I wish I didn't have this stupid injury so I can hold her properly.

"Come closer," I manage to choke out. The sheets rustle, giving away her contemplation and after a while, I feel the warmth of her skin start to seep through the cold. I still can't turn into her, but I can hook my own little finger into the hem of her ( _my_ ) shirt.

Now I've got her too.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N - Happy New Year everyone! I hope 2017 is good to you all and that health and happiness is in abundance. As always, thank you so much for your reviews last chapter. This one comes with a WARNING: THERE WILL BE SOME M-RATED STUFF LATER.**

 **If that offends you, then please take this as advice not to read that section - or to maybe just skip this chapter. I don't often write smut, but when it lends itself to the feel of the piece, I'll include it as necessary. To the guest reviewer who said you wouldn't mind a little explicitness - I hope this was something like what you had in mind?**

 **You've been warned ;) Anyway, hope you enjoy - and don't forget a little review at the end :) x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

"Yo Halstead, it's good to see you back bro!" Atwater yanks me into a bear hug I'm not really ready for but it's good to be back in the pen - even if it's desk duty for the next week. When I'm released, I get a slap on the back from Dawson, another off Ruzek and Hank exits his office to shake my hand. Turns out getting shot in the line of duty gets you a little favourable attention.

"It's good to be back," I laugh and sit myself down, appreciative of the fact that I don't need someone to help me do it.

I've been away from this place for a good three weeks, and it'll be another one before Voight lets me back on the street, and I'm so grateful that the wound healed without any complications. Spending day after day in my apartment has been driving me insane - in more ways than one.

Erin's culinary repertoire has improved from microwave meals and burned gravy to the occasional pasta dish and frozen pizza, but I'm almost certain my body needs a salad or stir-fry or something. Perhaps more than that, though, it needs a break from her. In hindsight, the whole sharing a bed thing wasn't the best idea I've ever had; sleeping next to a girl you can't have while she wears only your t-shirt is pretty much torture of the highest order. I've had a cold shower every day for the past week.

"I bet the personal nurse situation's been working out pretty nice for you huh?" Ruzek grins over at me as though he's reading my thoughts, and when I flip him my finger, he just laughs even more. These guys have no idea.

The woman in question is currently out looking for a job, which makes me insanely proud because it means she's trying hard not to go back to the life she says I plucked her from. Just because I gave her a helping hand a couple times though doesn't mean it was all me. She made a lot of choices to help herself too. When I told her just that, she'd grinned that dimpled smile at me and said that when she finally got something, she'd start looking at nicer apartments. It was those words which sparked the conversation we had this morning, where she'd told me that if I could manage, she should probably go back to her place in Englewood. Sure, the bed situation will be less torturous from now on, but I'm not sure I'll sleep any easier knowing how flimsy the locks on that front door of hers are. Her hot skin pressed against mine may be testing my patience like you wouldn't believe, but at least I know she's safe.

I spend the day answering the phone, writing reports, searching for any files Voight asks for and generally thanking God I'm not Platt, without a single text from Erin to let me know she's got so much as an interview. I'd tried to help her with a resume but when you've spent the last decade paying rent by conducting less-than-legal activities from your mother's strip club, it doesn't make for great reading. She thought it best that she asked round as many bars as possible; girl knows her scotch from her bourbon and round here, that's probably all she needs. If the search comes up fruitless I figure I can put in a call to Gabby over at Molly's.

"You up for it Halstead?" Olinksy asks as the group enter the pen, fresh from enjoying their jobs no doubt.

"What's that?"

"Molly's tonight. Celebrate you coming back."

I haven't drunk beer in a month and my mouth's watering at just the thought of a cold bottle. "Hell yes."

X

The bar is pretty busy when we walk in but Ruzek spots a free booth and makes for it, dodging first round as always. Dawson calls him out on it but we all know by the time he's had too many, he'll be buying everyone shots anyway and he just grins at us once he's seated. I'm about to join him on Olinksy's insistence but then I catch a sight which makes me stop in my tracks: Erin's behind the bar, and from the looks of the guys surrounding her section, she's not doing a bad job of impressing the local firemen and police. She looks up, catches my eye, gives me a huge ear-splitting grin and finishes serving the group she's got eating out of the palm of her hand before making her way round to me.

"You didn't tell me you got a job."

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

I nod with a smile but I'm not sure what to do because what I _really_ want is to kiss her, and yet I know I'm going to have to settle on a hug. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," she smiles, her eyes searching mine as though she's looking for something.

"Is it okay that I work here? I mean...maybe I should have text you first to check. I should have thought that I might be invading your space but I -"

I cut her off with a hug because she's rambling and although it's adorable, I won't have her thinking she's in any way, shape or form, invading my space. If anything, I _want_ her to invade my space. I silently tell myself to quell the fantasy and save it for later. "I'm proud of you Erin."

She doesn't say anything, but I feel her grip my shirt in her fist and that's good enough for me. I smile and pull back. "You should get back to work."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth and her eyes are sparkling in a way I haven't seen very often. "You have a good night," she says, adding, "Remember to tip your server."

Her words are accompanied by a wink and good God, I'm _so down_ for her working here. After those long days of gruelling cases we all hate, her gorgeous face will be more than a welcome respite. I hope they give her overtime.

We drink undoubtedly more than we should, culminating in Ruzek texting Kim to come join us because otherwise, he hasn't got a ride home. When she enters the bar, wearing a halterneck dress with a cut that clearly accentuates her chest, we laugh at his drooling expression and rip him for being whipped. Thing with Ruzek is, he'll hold his hands up and admit it and that's what makes us love him even more. Olinksy made a good call when he brought him into our unit.

Later, when the bar has cleared a little and there aren't too many other groups left, I catch myself watching Erin as she laughs at something one of the firemen is saying. From where I'm sitting, I can't tell exactly who it is but from the height and build, my guess is Kelly Severide.

"Someone muscling in on your territory?" Dawson asks with a nod in the direction of Erin. The guys share a grin and even Kim joins in.

"She's not mine."

"But you want her to be," Ruzek states, earning a cheers from the rest of the guys.

"You told her?" Kim asks.

"She knows what I want."

"Which is?"

I don't like all of these questions. Kim raises her eyebrows to urge me to elaborate and I sigh. "Have you actually asked her?" she continues to press.

"No."

"Well if you want to take her on a date, I'd say you've got…" she looks at her watch, then back at Erin, "around five minutes - maybe a little less - before Severide does it first."

I set my jaw and look across the bar at the two of them. Erin's pouring a glass of something brown over ice and I start to feel a little hot. Actually, a lot hot. "Five minutes?" I clarify with Kim.

"He's working fast. I'd say more like three, actually."

I don't hear the rest. I'm pretty sure I hear Attwater shout something at me when I'm halfway across the bar because there's a rise in the laughter coming from our booth but I ignore it, focusing instead on the girl behind the wood.

"You got a minute?" I ask.

She nods at Severide - as do I - and moves to where I'm standing. I lead her to the quieter end and she's obviously confused. "You want a drink or- "

"- A date." I gasp, then frown. That didn't come out right. "I uh...I wanted to ask you out. On a date." My hands are sweating more than they ever have in my life. "If you'd like to."

The dimpled grin is back. _Hell yes_. "Oh definitely." _Hell_ fucking _yes_. I must have been a good boy last year.

"Alright then." I can't wipe the smile from my face and she laughs at me. Can I kiss her yet? "Are you free tomorrow?"

"I have to work tomorrow night. But the day after? Friday?"

"Friday night. I'll pick you up at eight."

Erin looks like the cat who got the cream but I'm pretty sure the smirk on my face is even more smug. Friday needs to hurry the hell up.

X

Friday _doesn't_ hurry the hell up. Wednesday night - after I leave the bar (with Erin in it because she had to clear up and Gabby was going to drop her back at her place) and head home to my empty apartment with its lingering smell of vanilla shampoo - drags and even though I thought sleeping next to my girl was torture, it turns out that _not_ sleeping next to her with that little finger hooked around the waistband of my pants or the hemline of my t-shirt is far, far worse.

Thursday rolls around just as slowly despite the decent bust we make at work, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to hit Molly's after shift. I don't want anyone to think I'm stalking her. I don't sleep more than a couple hours and by Friday morning, I'm so ready for it to be 8pm.

The guys have spent the day ripping me for my nerves - advertised by my bouncing leg and tense jaw apparently - but I find it hard to give a shit when I'm finally standing outside of Erin's apartment door with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a bag of blankets in the other. I figured she'll have been to plenty of restaurants before; I've been wanting to bring her back to Millennium Park since Christmas Day and how better to experience the city's best picnic spot than with the city's best takeout? We can pick that up once we get there but right now, I'm willing myself to get a grip and knock on her damn door. I've done it enough times before. This time though, it's different.

When she opens the door, I'm speechless. She's wearing a tight black dress which stops at her knee and is trimmed with delicate black lace. Her hair is beautifully waved with some sort of black pin in it, her feet are strapped into some heeled sandal things but out of everything, it's the bracelet I gave her sitting elegantly on her wrist that strikes me the most. She's absolutely stunning.

"I guess I overdressed," she tells me self-consciously as she appraises my outfit of dark jeans, boots, a warm sweater and leather jacket. _Yeah, I should've told her what I had planned_. Now I feel like a dick because I'm not taking her anywhere she'll be able to show off what is quite clearly a new outfit.

I finally remember to speak, but swallow first. "Erin, you look...amazing."

She erupts into a dimpled grin as my eyes roam her body and give me away. "Would you like to come in?" she asks and I nod nervously. I need to get it together. "Should I change? I uh...saw in the movies that girls dress like this for-"

"-No," I reply quickly, and I get that grin again. "But uh...maybe you could wear some boots? Keep your feet warm for a change?"

"They _do_ get cold."

"You got a warm coat?" I ask. "I've got blankets but you might need something else."

I watch as Erin disappears around the corner and I'm left to contemplate what she was saying earlier: Girls in movies dress like this. _Has nobody taken her on a date before_?

"I'll grab one. Just hang on a sec."

The second she asks for is more like five minutes, and I realise I'm still holding the flowers like an idiot, but then she stands back in front of me with some black boots on her feet and a furry coat-type-thing covering her top half, smile plastered across her face. "Ready."

"These are for you," I say, handing her the flowers which have taken a little beating in my sweaty hand, but overall, they look pretty decent. Better than the daisies I brought her at the hospital that time. I push the thought out of my head while she presses the softest kiss against my cheek and I think my legs might be about to give out here and now. I want her to do that again.

The flowers make it into a pint glass - evidently, she has no vases just kicking it in her cabinets - and we leave her apartment behind us.

X

"You were right about this being the city's best pizza," Erin moans as she starts another slice of the spicy pepperoni pie. "It's the best thing I've ever tasted."

When the thought that I want her to say that about something else, something a little harder and a lot more belonging to me, enters my head, I find that my jeans are suddenly a little too tight and I might need to make this her last slice because if she keeps making those noises, I might have to strip and roll myself in the snow. Those showers aren't doing their job.

"Better than a restaurant?"

"I guess," she shrugs. "Although I wouldn't know. I'm not sure Burger King counts as a restaurant."

I'm confused. "Have you been to a restaurant before?"

"When you barely have the money for groceries, Michelin stars aren't really top of the priority list you know?" she tries to laugh but it comes out a little sad. _Shit_. She'd got dressed up because she thought I was going to take her out for dinner - _for the first time in her life_ \- and I've brought her to the fucking park for pizza. I'm an idiot. The next time she's not working, I'm taking her to the Purple Pig and we're gonna order every damn item she wants on that menu.

I notice her shiver and pull out another blanket to wrap around her because I'm not sure how to respond to what she's just said. I was going to suggest we take a walk after this but she's gotta be freezing and I didn't think to bring coffee.

"You want to get warm?" I manage to ask after she's licked all of the grease off of her fingers in a none-too-lady-like fashion. "Coffee?"

"Sounds good." I get a smile as she stands. "Your place?"

"There's a few decent bars that serve some good stuff not far from here." I reply. I denied her dinner, I'm not going to give her home-brewed Folger's in one of my mis-matching mugs if she can have the better stuff from a white cup and saucer.

"Okay," Erin replies. "But I'd prefer coffee at your place."

I try and read her to see whether she's genuinely after the comforting warmth of my apartment or whether she's trying trying to make me feel less of a first-date failure. There's nothing but truth in her eyes. "Okay then."

I pack up the blankets while she discards the boxes in a nearby trash can and just when I'm starting to panic about what to say, I feel her slip her hand in mine and just like that, everything is calm again. I walk us back to the car with a grin spread right across my face.

X

I close the door behind us and Erin shrugs herself out of the coat she's wearing, revealing the lace dress I didn't get to stare at for long enough earlier. I watch as she kicks off her boots so they end up haphazardly lying across the wood until I remove my own and set them neatly next to each other by the door. She smiles at my tidiness and I hang up both of our coats on the hooks above our footwear. There's something indescribably _good_ about our clothing sitting side by side like that.

"Just gonna…" Erin nods towards the general direction of my bathroom and I make a start on the coffee. She's gone for only a few minutes but I start to miss her before she comes back. Sometimes I wonder what I thought about before I met her.

Just as I'm setting the empty pot on the base of the machine, I'm caught off guard as Erin spins me so my back hits the counter before her lips are on mine and her hands are tugging at the base of my sweater. I go from confused to fuck yes to _I need to put the brakes on before I can't think straight_ in about ten seconds, during which my hands seem to have wandered to her hips of their own accord and my lower half has begun testing the strength of my jeans zipper.

"Erin…" My voice is hoarse and, not for the first time when she's kissed me, I have to clear my throat. "Erin."

"What?" Her eyes are only partially open but when I pull back to put some distance between us, she raises her painted lids to look at me. And that's when I determine the look in them: it's not desire. It's duty. And this is _not_ how I want tonight to go down.

"You don't have to do this."

She ignores me, bumping her waist against my crotch and it takes everything I have not to let the moan escape my throat. I take her hand just before it lands on my belt and only then does she look at me. Really look at me.

"You don't want this."

"No."

The flash that crosses her eyes is of such hurt that I gabble the rest of my sentence. "I mean, I do...want you. Want this. But not like this."

I know I'm not making any sense but she's flooding my brain and my veins and every sense I have, and surely to God I must be getting some brownie points from someone up there for this kind of restraint. "I don't want you to _service_ me."

She takes a step back and I see the tears in her eyes. "I'll just...grab my coat."

My eyes widen in realisation. No. _NO!_ "I don't want you to leave. Just...don't think you have a responsibility because I asked you out."

Erin says nothing, just continues to back away. I don't know how to fix this. The coffee machine beeps, indicating the filtering process and while the noise steals her attention for a moment, I manage to gather myself enough to remind myself to do right by her. To be what she needs. She offers me one of those smiles that doesn't reach her eyes before making her way over to the door. Her coat's not even off the hook before I've crossed my living room and placed my hand over hers.

She turns with a questioning look but I just use the opportunity to lace my fingers with hers. "Please stay." My breath is a whisper and I hadn't even realised I was leaning in until my lips brush hers softly, trying desperately to make her understand what I meant earlier. Her own lips don't move, and I trail mine along the underside of her jaw and towards her ear, resting in that soft spot between her lobe and her neck which is when she gasps out a sigh and I feel her body relax into me. With our fingers still laced together, I bring my hand up to trace her cheekbone, her lips, under her eyes where the skin is a little damp from tears she'd obviously let fall when her back was turned. The look in them, when I halt my movements so she'll look at me, is different now. It's softer. There's anticipation there of what I'll do next. And, above all, there's a desperation for me to continue. So I do.

Her lips part in waiting as mine land against their softness, my eyes closing at the feel of her, at the scent of the vanilla in her hair and the perfume on her skin. She lets me kiss her like this, lazily and without hurry even though I've got a - _literally_ \- more pressing situation going on downstairs. I shift us so she doesn't have to feel that against her thigh, but then her hands start a trail from the back of my neck, down my spine which feels as though it's on fire and about to give out, settling at my waist where they dip under my sweater and t-shirt to find hot skin. Hot skin that doesn't want any material between us.

There's a small tug, just enough for me to stop kissing her in order to help pull it over my head so it lands somewhere on the floor. I can't miss the smile playing on her lips because it displays my favourite things in the world - her dimples - as she slowly backs us towards the couch. When I feel the cool leather against my pants, I pause again because if we're really going to do this, it's not going to be in my living room. I want her in my bed.

"You sure?" I ask as she reaches for my next item of clothing: my t-shirt. Her answer is to bend with a kiss at the bottom of my abs and _Christ_ , all I want to do is get her on that mattress and bury myself inside of her but a kiss is not a yes and _I_ need to know she wants this. I won't forgive myself if I hurt her.

"Erin?"

"I'm sure," she nods, and even though I hold her face in my hands to search for any sign that she's masking the truth, I find none. Placing a kiss against her nose, and then each of her eyelids as they sweep down in preparation for my lips on hers, I lace our fingers back together in a gesture that already feels like home, and lead her to my bedroom.

Her hair fanned out on my pillow is one of my new favourite sights, especially when it's accompanied by her reaching out to tug me towards her. I don't think I'll ever get enough of her fingers twisting in my shirt.

When she tries to pull at my belt buckle, I take her fingers, kiss each one and place them above her head because she's not getting what she's had before. My stupid mouth doesn't seem to be able to say the words my brain is willing it to and so if I can't tell her, I'm going to show her instead what she means to me. What she is. And what she is, is perfect.

The zipper for her dress is located along the side seam which gives me the perfect opportunity to check that she really has healed like she says. Those ribs of hers took a good battering and the last time I saw her skin there, it was coloured in far too brightly for my liking. Tonight though, when I lower the zip to expose more of her body, all I find is a perfect canvas of creamy white, and I press kisses against every inch as I work the metal down her side. By the time I'm at the bottom, Erin's fingers are back against my shirt, pulling gently but not to take it off - to pull me back to her so she can kiss me. Of course, I oblige.

What starts off slow and languid soon turns up when her mouth opens wide enough for me to dip my tongue in and taste her. Her hot breaths welcome me as I hear a moan vibrate at the back of her throat, which I swallow as my hand begins to inch the material of her dress up her legs. We break for air and I check her eyes again for any sign that this act is borne out of a sense of duty because I know when I get this dress off, I'm almost undoubtedly passing the point of no return.

"Take it off," she whispers. And that's that.

Even though my dick is desperate for my hands to speed up, I'm careful not to rip this dress because I want to see her in it again. My pulse spikes as I get the material past her panties - black lace too, for the record - and up as far as her breasts before Erin has to sit up a little so I can pull it over her head. I'm rewarded with a matching bra and I allow myself to just look at her for a moment. "Jay," she says, and I instantly know I'm going to be replaying _that_ again in my head. I've never heard anyone say my name like that. It doesn't need a response; I know what she means, and I dip my head to her collarbone so I can kiss my way from one side to the other before I hook my t-shirt over my head because I want to know how her skin feels against mine.

Her back arches as my lips meet her skin again, this time in the valley between her breasts. I let my fingers trace their way under the lace of her bra, enjoying the soft suppleness of her body. I manage the clasp with one hand, the other busy with roaming the skin on her shoulder and down her arm. I can smell the vanilla of her hair and the musk in her perfume but there's this other smell mixing in too - coconut maybe - and whatever it is, it's making me want to taste every inch of her. She smells like heaven.

I don't know where her bra lands when I toss it to the side but I don't care because I'm busy pressing kisses to the underside of her breasts that make her moan and arch up into me. I want this every minute of every day from now on. Erin's gasping by the time I've reached her belly button, her chest heaving with each breath as I continue lower - to the top of her panties. A small whimper escapes her mouth when I skip the lace material and my lips head to the inside of her right thigh.

"Please, Jay," she begs as I reach her ankle and cross over so I'm working my way up her left leg. You couldn't force this smile off my face right now. I'm greedy when it comes to her, yes, but I'm not selfish and as much as I want to rip my jeans off and feel her around me, I know it'll be better if I give her what she needs, not what she wants. She needs me to love her.

Just when she thinks I'm about to remove her panties - her parted lips and held breath giving her away - I drag my lips back over hers and dip my tongue into her mouth again. I want her everywhere. She reaches for my belt buckle and I finally relent because I need these jeans off or I'm going to combust. I kick them down my legs and onto the floor somewhere but when her hands head for the waistband of my boxers, I take her fingers in mine again and shake my head.

"Not yet."

She forms her lips into a pout and I smile at how adorable it is, but it's not enough to win out over taking my time with her. Loving her properly.

I finally reach for her panties and give myself an internal congratulations when I feel just how wet they are. She's watching me with blackened eyes and I don't have to look for anything else; I know she wants this just as much as I do. With a quick tug, they're down her legs and discarded somewhere with the rest of our clothing, leaving her bare to me. Her back is arched so high, coiled and ready for whatever part of my body I choose to use and I wait a little longer than I need to, just in case. Her breathing is laboured and I press my lips in the softest of kisses against her core, her resulting moan burning my ears and all self-control. My tongue traces her clit gently - she's so wound up that if I'm not careful, I might hurt her - and within a minute she's clamping down on me with her climax. Giving her a moment to recover, I stroke my fingertips around - but not inside - her centre, pressing lazy kisses against her thigh. When she's ready and her breathing is a little more regulated, I swipe once with my thumb as a test, and when those hips rise up, I draw a circle with the pad, slowly.

"God, Jay," she breathes, and I'm only just coherent enough to register that this is the third time she's said my name like that, and if she says it again, I'll be done. Somehow, her fingers manage to work my boxers over my hips and down my legs so I can kick them off, pausing only to open my bedside drawer in what must be the fastest ever movement I've made. The clinic conversation is one for another time, one where we're not naked and sweating and too far gone to pull back. Erin reaches up to kiss her way down my chest as I sheath myself, and I think, if it's possible, I might love her even more in this moment.

"You okay?" I ask as I lay her back down with returned kisses, my dick begging to enter her.

"Yes," she replies, breathless and urging with a knee against the back of my thigh. It's all the encouragement I need.

I'm pretty sure my eyes roll back as I sink inside of her, her walls wet and warm and welcoming. I tip my head back in an attempt to hold on longer. When her hips rise, tilting so I'm deeper inside of her, I can't fight the groan I emit. I rock slowly, fingers tracing circles around her nipples so they harden and beg for my mouth. The ensuing noise from Erin's is enough to have me teetering on the edge and I pause for breath because if she does that again, I won't hold out.

We start up again and if anything, the rise comes even quicker this time and my neck is absolutely _burning_ in my attempts to keep this from being a one-for-her, one-for-me deal when I feel her tremble beneath me about five seconds before she screams my name and I feel her walls clamp around me, triggering my own release.

I can't move. My forehead is against the valley of her breasts and I'm trying hard to keep my weight off of her, but her legs and arms are wrapped around me, holding me to her and I just don't want let her go.

"Give me a minute," I manage to choke out against her skin, but her hands start this massage thing in my hair and I feel my eyelids drooping with every weave of her fingers. If the bar thing doesn't work out, she could give massages as a profession.

"It's fine," she breathes, and without looking up, I know she means it. I feel my mouth curve into a small at the fact I know that, but finally manage to regain enough brain cells to roll off of her. I'll crush her lungs if I stay like that.

As much as I don't want to leave this bed - _ever_ \- I head to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and when I come back, she's putting on my t-shirt from earlier. I frown but she looks hot as hell with that covering her chest and her hair all mussed from our earlier antics. I want this to be what I see every time I walk into this room.

"It smells like you," is all the explanation she offers and it's good enough for me.

I climb back in next to her and offer an arm so she can curl into me. All I smell is vanilla until I fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - So it turns out you're not the kind of group who mind a little smut now and again then? haha Seriously, thank you SO MUCH for the reviews last chapter. So many of them made me laugh out loud.**

 **In honour of the return of CPD, I have decided to update today.** **So this chapter is probably an M rated one too so if any new readers have just found this story and are offended, it's probably best to skip this update. I'm trying my very best to update frequently, but I'm back at work now so it'll probably be down to two a week at the very most. Blame the British government for their obsession with exam results.**

 **At least you get a nice long chapter this time. Show your love with a review? ;) x**

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Let Me Love You

There's this patch of skin on Erin's legs - the inside of her thighs; around a couple inches lower than her centre, to be exact - that is so indescribably soft that there's literally nothing in the world I can compare it to. She's been asleep for the past three hours, breaths deep and even and beautifully untroubled, and my hand has been resting on that patch of skin the entire time, just drawing patterns while I contemplate our earlier actions.

I slept for maybe a half hour before the guilt of risking her independence and recovery because I couldn't keep it in my pants woke and consumed me. She inches closer - if it's possible - and the cotton material of my t-shirt she's wearing rides up so the bottom of her stomach is exposed along with her entire lower half. My brain might be feeling guilty but my dick sure as hell isn't. I twist carefully, hiding the evidence of what she does to me so that if she wakes, the first thing she's met with isn't my body's need for a fix - _of her_.

I don't know how to be what Erin needs. I've started to wonder, while lying here with her in my arms, whether asking her on that date last night was a mistake because even though what we did afterwards was exactly what I've been wanting for a long time (and, apparently, what she's been wanting too), it wasn't what I should have done. I _should_ have taken her to a bar for coffee, dropped her back at her apartment and kissed her goodnight. I've taken advantage in a moment of weakness on both of our parts and I'm so angry at myself.

Erin stirs a little, and without thinking, I press my lips against her warm skin in comfort. She relaxes again and I feel a sense of disgust with myself rise in my stomach. I need to get out of this bed.

The living room provides little sanctity what with her coat hanging by the door and her boots sitting neatly next to mine. The mugs we didn't drink from earlier sit on the kitchen counter, taunting me with their emptiness until I put hers away and pour myself a large dose of the black stuff I brewed but never drunk. It tastes old but it's strong enough to combat the fact I haven't slept properly in over 48 hours because all I can think about _all of the time_ is Erin.

I pick up the sweater she took off me earlier and I'm instantly transported to her fingers on my skin - delicate yet rough and urgent at the same time - and her chest pressed to mine. How is it, I wonder, that one person can consume you? Thing is, I _want_ her to. I want to think about her every second of every minute of every day and I want my bedding to smell like her when I go to sleep. I want the way she says my name to be echoing in my ears because it's all proof she was here.

"Jay?" Her voice, though low and soft, makes me jump. I turn to see her resting against the wall, my t-shirt now covered by the police hoodie she's worn before. Somewhere in the back of my brain, it registers that her feet are covered by a pair of my boot socks as she continues. "What are you doing out here?"

She makes her way over to me and I want her to stay by the wall so she's safe from any advances I might make in spite of myself. I just can't trust myself around her. "Couldn't sleep."

She comes closer still, perching on the edge of the coffee table so I have no choice but to look at her. Her hands cover mine and I feel her take the mug from me, then watch as she takes a small sip, pauses, then takes a larger one. "Coffee's not gonna help."

I manage to curve my lips into a small smile. "Probably not."

She tries and fails to stifle a yawn. "Will you come back? To bed I mean."

"I uh…" I swallow and keep my eyes cast down. "I was going to take a shower. But you should go back to sleep. Get some rest."

She sets the mug down on the wood and waits. I know she wants me to look at her. When I don't, I hear her whisper the quietest "okay," before she rises and heads back towards the bedroom. I hate myself all over again.

X

The weak sunlight of a cold February morning comes slowly, by which point I've already made a breakfast I'm pretty sure neither of us are going to eat. Erin hasn't come out of my bedroom since our early morning exchange and I don't want to go in there in case she's still sleeping and I wake her.

When she finally does enter the living room, she's wearing her dress from last night but there's something different in the way she's wearing it. Like, it doesn't fit the same, doesn't hug her in all the right ways.

"You want some pancakes?" I ask her, but all she does is eye me, the stack on the counter and the one plate set on the table before shaking her head. "There's plenty."

"You not eating?"

"I uh...I'm not really hungry so…"

She nods. "Got it."

"So you want some?"

A bitter laugh accompanies her reply. "I'm just gonna get going. I've got work later. All weekend actually."

That final statement should be accompanied by a proud smile but it's not and I know that's because of me. "Erin…"

She holds up her hand. "You don't have to say anything."

I do though. And I want to. The words fail to come. "Thank you," she adds. "For last night. I haven't...well, there were a lot of things I haven't had before."

Someone kill me because this girl deserves so much better. "I'll call you," I manage to grit out.

She shrugs. "Okay." She doesn't think I'm going to. _I will_. When I've figured out how I'm not going to be the reason she breaks. How to make this up to her.

"Let me give you a ride."

"Really, Jay," she says softly, pulling on her boots. "You don't have to."

I should've dropped her home last night. "Let me anyway."

X

All day, I hope for a phone call from Voight saying we have a case to work; that we gotta go in. It never comes. Instead, I spend the morning after dropping Erin off at her place cleaning my apartment even though nothing is dirty. Perhaps the only thing that does need doing is a change of sheets on my bed, but that would mean the new ones on there won't smell like her and I don't want to go to sleep tonight without the scent of vanilla. I leave the sheets as they are. Something tells me I'm not going to sleep much anyway.

I know she's working tonight and the self-control I have to exercise not to go over there is immense, but I just about manage it by way of a single beer and sheer exhaustion. I'm asleep on the couch, passed out in front of a _Cheers_ re-run when I wake with a jump at the banging on my door. I glance at my watch and frown. It's too early to be Erin - she's working right now...unless…

My heart is pounding in anticipation as I reach the door, but when I yank it open, I'm met with the disappointing faces of Ruzek, Atwater and Dawson. Even combined, they're not in the same league as Erin. As Ruzek holds up a twelve-pack with a grin, I regret opening my door. I want to shut off from the world and fall into a sleep where I can dream of the girl I can't get enough of. I realise, in that moment, that I'm jealous of a bar.

"Get the game on man!" Dawson exclaims, breezing past me and towards my couch.

"What?"

"The Cubs are playing! We talked about coming over the other day."

I remember and groan inwardly because they're going to be in my apartment for the next three hours and all I want to do is sleep. I force a smile as I'm handed a beer and Dawson takes charge of the remote.

Partway through the game, right as Hendricks has just pitched an absolute blinder, I start to think that I wouldn't mind watching a game with Erin curled up on my lap. And by _wouldn't mind_ , I mean _really want to_. I'd even be happy if she was complaining that she didn't understand the rules or if she was alternating stealing sips of my beer and kisses pressed against my lips. If anything, I'd prefer to watch the game that way.

I spend the remainder of the final two innings thinking about how empty my bed is going to feel tonight and silently make up my mind not to drink any more so I can head over to Erin's place later. I've got to apologise - for everything.

X

If it's possible, I think I might be even more nervous standing outside of her door tonight than I was last night. The guys finally left my place just before midnight, after I'd put a cap on Ruzek consuming my tequila like it was water and text Kim to tell her to make sure there's aspirin in her bathroom cabinet for the morning.

It's late, but if she was working tonight, she's only likely to have been home maybe a half hour, and so I don't feel too bad about not having called first. Besides, after reliving the way she looked at me when I dropped her off earlier this morning, I don't think she would have answered my calls anyway.

I take a deep breath and finally bring my hand up to knock three times against the world's worst excuse for a front door. I'm sure there must be a ton of building regulations being breached by her apartment alone, let alone this whole building. There's a light on - I can see the dim stretch of yellow in the gap between the door and the floor - so I know (or can at least assume) she's home. I wait around twenty seconds with a thumping heart, and I'm just bringing my fist against the door again when it opens in front of me and my whole world crashes with a single blow.

"Did I hear the...oh," Erin's voice trails off from inside of her apartment - the entrance to which is currently blocked by Kelly Severide. I want to yell or punch something ( _him_ , probably - or the wall) or build a time machine so I never came here and witnessed her in a pair of navy lace french underwear, clearly having had sex. I know that hair. The image of his shirtless torso with her crossing the hallway behind is now forever going to be burned into my mind.

None of us move. I don't think I can.

My legs feel like lead and my skin is absolutely _burning_ \- and not in the way it was last night. I know Severide is staring at me but I'm staring at Erin, who looks a mixture of pissed that I'm here, and ashamed of herself.

"You uh…" Severide starts. "Want to come in?"

Erin is still staring. Her chest is rising up and down rapidly under the material of her tank top and I'm pretty sure mine is doing the same. There's a shake to her hands that I can't determine is a result of my being here, withdrawal symptoms, a come down from a sex high (although she didn't get that last night) or because she's had something to drink and her body is reacting to it. It had better not be the last one because if it is, I'll have no issue in punching the lieutenant for giving it to her.

Her lips part as if she's going to speak but no words come out and I watch her force her throat into complying with the act of swallowing. My own is thick and I know I'm going to have to do or say something because we can't all just stand here for the next hour looking at each other.

"No," I manage to grit out and the mere effort involved in keeping my voice level exhausts me all over again. "I uh...I shouldn't have come."

I just about manage to turn on the spot with limbs that don't feel as though they're attached to my body and a heaviness in my chest that's only there because I fucked up last night. There's a voice - quiet and small and saying my name - that trickles into the air as I'm half-way down the stairs but I have no idea if it really has left Erin's lips or if it's just my imagination. I don't stop my descent to find out.

I don't recall the drive back to my apartment; don't remember any details about the weather or the roads I take (even though my heart knows them by rote anyway) or which stores are open, whether I run a red light or not. My phone doesn't ring. I don't know if I expect it to or not, but the fact that I recognise the lack of vibration probably gives away my answer.

There isn't enough alcohol in my apartment to block out what I just saw and so I park up out front and head down the block to the store for enough bourbon to drown out my thoughts. To drown out Erin. No, not to drown out Erin. To drown out _Erin and Severide_. _Together_. The guy behind the glass takes one look at me, nods when I hand him the fifty and bids me a better night when I get my change. I think I'd laugh if I had the energy.

You know what's overrated? Glasses. I skip the creation of extra washing up in the morning and drink straight from the bottle because let's face it, pouring just slows you down. The burn of the liquid as it washes down my throat and into the pit of my stomach feels good, but not as good as Erin's fingers massaging my scalp. That'd get me to drift off in a heartbeat. I curse myself - out loud (who's here to judge?) and with aggression - because I didn't just spend close to fifty dollars on a bottle of Eagle Rare to fantasise about a massage I'm not gonna get.

Somewhere between sip twelve and gulp seven, I decide to mentally list all of the ways in which my life would be better without Erin Lindsay in it. Want to know how many reasons make it onto said list? One. _This_ one. This anger-pain hybrid I've got going on because I fell in love with her, couldn't find the words to tell her, slept with her because I couldn't control myself, _didn't sleep_ with her because I felt too guilty, and pushed her away because I didn't call to apologise. I confirmed her suspicions.

I put the bottle down on the coffee table in defeat and head to my bedroom.

My bed smells of her. Of course it does, because I didn't change the sheets and I wanted this: this torturous vanilla-coconut heaven that crashes over me once I hit the mattress. I don't wear anything to sleep in - don't want to miss her fingers curled into the waistband of my pajama pants. I think I hate her a little bit.

I don't hate her. I love her _all the time_.

X

Even when I woke up in the hospital after being shot, I've never felt this disorientated. I have no idea of the day, date, time or why the hell I feel like I've been hit by a truck until I inhale a little too deeply and choke on the bile that rises in my throat when I remember trying to drink my way through a bottle of bourbon that was never my friend. _Shit_. Erin and Severide.

Just the _thought_ of dragging my sorry ass to the bathroom in order to shower is so distinctly unappealing that I actively pull the sheets tighter around me. Bad move. A tidal wave of Erin's scent crashes over me, followed by the realisation that I'm about to vomit everything I drank last night.

Wincing as I crash to my knees in front of the toilet bowl, I manage to make it just in time before the contents of my stomach end up staring me in the face in scathing judgement. It takes me a good half hour to psyche myself up enough to get in the shower, after which I feel slightly better, but I don't make it any further than the door before I have to vomit again.

Only after I've heaved the last remaining contents of my stomach into the toilet, then brush my teeth, do I trudge to the kitchen in search of my hangover/breakup mug to fill with coffee. Seems apt enough. A quick glance at the clock - and then a secondary one to confirm what I think I've just seen - tells me it's already early afternoon and I groan because I'm almost definitely going to have to face Voight tomorrow still feeling the effects of this hangover.

I finish my mug of coffee, then top it up again before my fingers find Erin's number in my phone. Before I can chicken out or wind myself up, I send a quick text asking if she's free later. We really, _really_ need to talk. The reply comes around an hour later and it's as curt as I'd expected it might be:

 _ **I'm working tonight.**_

Fine. I'll see her at Molly's. This can't wait any longer. _I_ can't wait any longer.

X

The air is freezing as I park my car close enough so that I won't feel the cold too much on my way in. The walk isn't long enough for me to regret not bringing a warm coat; the jacket around my top half does just enough to stave off the crawling chill of the night air, but I can tell from the fogged up windows of the bar that inside, it's warm.

I see her as soon as I get through those doors and there's a rising heat flushing up my spine and the back of my neck, through my ears and all the way up to my forehead. She's wearing a low-cut white shirt that makes her look half-angel, half-sinner, and you know what? I just want to pull her into my arms, whisk her out of there and barricade us inside of my apartment for the next year so that I can apologise, we can make up and nobody can shatter the peace.

She catches my eye and deliberately turns the other way in a pointed statement of making me feel even worse than I already do. But Erin Lindsay is not winning this one.

In a move bolder than I've probably ever been, I march toward where she's serving vodka club sodas to a few guys from Rescue Squad 3 - one of them being Severide - and command her attention. "Erin."

Quickly, she takes the money being held out to her, practically snatching the twenty out of an outstretched hand before turning to me with cold eyes.

"What?"

"Why'd you do it?"

We move around the corner a little so she's out of the squad's earshot. "Because he wanted it and you didn't."

She can't be serious can she? Would she really think I didn't want her like that? "Of course I did."

She scoffs. Her eyes narrow and her words are laced with venom. "I had clients that held me longer than you did."

I feel sick at her words. At the image she's painted. At that fact that anyone else besides me has ever laid even a finger on that porcelain skin. She's trying to hurt me on purpose; to push me away. Just like I did yesterday morning. Something inside of me snaps and I take hold of her arm firmly, guiding her through the opening in the bar. "You're on your break."

"Get your hands off of me!" she hisses but I refuse, leading her outside. We're going to do this right now and she's going to listen. The air is absolutely bitter and she's not wearing anywhere _near_ enough clothing but I don't care. For once, I'm going to be selfish because I'm worried that if I don't take my chance now, I'll never get another.

"You think I didn't want to do what we did?" I'm trying to keep my voice low but the emotion is making it rise. "Well you're wrong. I _did_ want it. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to hear you saying my name like it was the only word in the world. I wanted to lay in that bed with you afterwards and never let you out of my arms again. But I realised as I was looking at you that I'd compromised everything you're working towards because I lost my self-control at the time you needed me to have it the most. And I knew that if you woke up while we were still lying there, that I'd lose that control again. Because I can't _think_ properly when I'm around you," I know I'm gasping for breath because my chest is heaving but her eyes are sharp and there's a look in them that's urging me on.

"Then what are you doing with me Jay?" she asks in a tone so devoid of self-belief that it makes me want to punch the wall in frustration that I can't get her to see what she's worth.

"I'm trying to love you Erin!" I practically scream. "And you won't let me!"

It's silent for way too long. Her chest is heaving too and her eyes are cloudy with unshed tears.

"Just _let_ me love you." With her mouth parted, I think she's _finally_ heard me.

"You don't get to be the first person to say that if you don't mean it."

I'm pretty sure there's no air in my lungs. The first person? She's never had _anyone_ tell her they love her? I make my mind up here and now: she's going to hear those words every day of her life from now on. First thing in the morning. Last thing at night. When she's doing dishes. When she's sick. When she smiles with those dimples. When she burns toast and eggs and accidentally puts milk in my coffee. Those words start now.

"I love you, Erin. I mean it. And I should've said it a long time before now but-" I don't get to finish the rest. Her lips - gorgeous and soft - cut me off in a seal over my own and I can't help the gruff moan that resonates at the back of my throat when she pulls me tighter against her. There's not an inch between us but she still doesn't feel close enough. I wrap my arms behind her, cupping my hands so they form a softer pillow than the wall so I can tilt her head just the way I know she wants me to - the way I learned, the other night, makes her toes scrunch up and her fingers grab for any section of my skin she can find.

When we finally break apart - only for our lungs to gather in enough oxygen, and not because either of us want to - I notice her eyes are glazed. There's a momentary minute of panic where I can't tell if it's drugs or alcohol or something else, but the fog clears when she sucks in a breath and I realise _I_ put that look there. You'd have to cut the smile off my face right now.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, pressing my lips to hers again because I can't get enough. I'll _never_ get enough. "I'm so sorry."

Erin shakes her head defiantly. "It was my fault. I -"

"- Never." I won't have her blaming herself. This was on me.

We hear a voice - Gabby's, I think - calling for Erin and I'm forced to pull myself away from her, to smooth down her hair and run my hands along her arms to keep her skin from turning red in the cold.

"Be right there," she calls and we share a grin. The grin has dimples.

"So you need a ride home tonight or…"

"That'd be good."

My day has literally done a 180. "Call me when you finish. I'll come get you."

I lay my lips against hers one more time before I start to pull away, but Erin's hand is on my arm. "You could stay?" she asks, offers, _tells me_? "I should get off in an hour or so. I could make you some coffee?"

I can't help the laugh that escapes my lips because I've tasted the coffee she makes and it is _not_ that good. I'd still pay too much for it. "Sounds perfect."

There's an awkward moment when we re-enter the bar and Severide looks up at us knowingly, but the guy's pretty solid and he nods at me with a small smile. I return the gesture, park myself on a stool at the bar and thank whatever gods have aligned in my favour tonight. I get a generous mug of the black stuff set in front of me and watch as Erin practically skips to the booth across from us to clear away the empty glasses. Each time she catches my eye, there's a rewarding bite of the lip here or a blush there. Give me this over the Cubs any day.

X

We settle into my car and right when I start the engine, I notice her shift uncomfortably. "You okay?"

"I was just thinking." I'm about the have the rug pulled from under me. Because nobody deserves for something to go as well as tonight has - especially not me. And yet, "What if you took me to your place?"

I turn to look at her properly. To figure out what she means. "I want to take you to where _you_ want to go."

"And what if I want to sleep in your bed tonight?"

Is she _kidding_? "Then I'm completely down with that."

There's this look she gives me: a kind of knowing grin which is accompanied by an eye slide to the zipper of my pants. I think I catch a raise of an eyebrow too. "Really, you're _down_?"

My reply comes out an a chuckle. "Wrong choice of words. But seriously, I'll take you wherever you want to go."

"Your place."

The drive back to my building is in stark contrast to that of last night. I notice _everything_ : The patterns on cold glass that the ice is forming; the bright lights of the street lamps that seem to fade to a gentler hue as we drive further towards the edge of the city; the way the midnight sky isn't black, but an inky blue, peppered with stars and wrapping around the skyline. I see Erin's face, bathed in red light at each intersection we stop at, before I hit the gas and the red gives way to slivers of silver from the moon. I see her fingers twitching - and not because she needs a fix of anything, but because they're inching closer to the central console to be nearer mine. In the end, I cover her hand with my own and she smiles, arches her soft skin into my palm and sighs happily.

"Can I shower?" she asks after I let us into my apartment and she's kicked her shoes off - then stood them up because she knows I like them tidy. "I feel kinda gross and sticky from the spilled alcohol."

"Of course."

There's a short moment after I've answered her in which she doesn't step away, and we both just watch each other until I think I figure out what she's waiting for. I dip to kiss her - without shoes on she's a good two feet shorter than I am - and the resulting smile I'm rewarded with confirms my thoughts. I watch her walk towards my bathroom and forget my own name.

X

"It's a lot to live up to," she whispers into the dark. We're lying in my bed, hidden by navy sheets, and her words vibrate against my chest as I stroke patterns into her hair.

"What is?"

"Your expectation of me." I pause and Erin lifts her head to look at me in the dim light of the moon. "You want me to be so _good_."

I _do_ want her to be good. But not for me. For her. She lays her head back down on my chest and strokes her fingers over my skin. "I just don't want to disappoint you."

I press my lips against her forehead and wrap my left leg around both of hers. She fits me so well. "You don't disappoint me Erin."

"I did last night."

"No," I shake my head and the movement disrupts her. "I disappointed myself when I took advantage of you. Then I didn't deal with it properly. You had every right to-"

"-Jay," she interrupts me with a finger against my lips. I can taste her skin and it's heaven. "You have never, _ever_ taken advantage of me."

"The other night," I huff out against her finger. She still doesn't move it. "When we had...when I…"

"Made love to me?" Usually, those words would make me cringe. I've never said them but I guess if there was a way of describing what we did, that would be it. "I've had sex before. That wasn't it. I've never had _that_ before."

"I want to love you right."

"Show me again," Erin asks, grazing her ankle a little higher above the leg that's resting on the mattress. "What it's like." She finally removes her finger and my lips start to feel cold. Shifting so she can look at me properly, I watch as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears before she replaces that finger with her lips. "Please?"

She never needs to ask me again. I'm going to show her I love her until the day I'm no longer on this earth. And even then, if it's possible, after that.

I crane my neck to reach her lips properly, sealing our mouths together gently, but with enough pressure that after a few seconds, I feel her turn so that her back is fully sinking into the mattress and I can shift on top of her. She's wearing the t-shirt that matches my pajama pants - when we climbed into bed earlier, it wasn't with the sole intention of doing _this_ \- and it doesn't take much for me to inch it up over her hips, stomach, with a pause at her breasts because I can't not, and then finally over her head so it settles somewhere on the floor and the only thing that's separating us is her panties and my bottoms.

With unhurried fingers, I trail from her collarbone to between her breasts, following with my lips and nose so I can smell what I'm tasting, before heading along the underside of each raise in her chest, laving the skin with my tongue because I love the way she sucks in her breath in anticipation. When I reach her stomach, I dip my tongue inside of her belly button and her hips lift us a few inches so that I can hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties. She's waiting for me to head south - I can tell from the way her eyes are shut and her bottom lip is clamped between her teeth - so I change direction, my lips sucking hers until I free it from its pearly white prison. A soft "oh," escapes her mouth when I kiss my way under her chin and along her throat, sucking gently at the spot just underneath her ear, but careful not to leave a mark. I will _not_ brand her.

At some point during my ministrations, Erin's hands weave into my hair to trace relaxing patterns just behind my ears. My entire head and neck area feels like it's not attached to my shoulders, tingles flowing down my spine so that my arms grow weak and I have to force myself to dip my head, just so I don't collapse. I dip as far as her breasts - I just can't leave them alone - resting my cheek there for a few seconds while I listen to her heartbeat and catch just enough breath that I can continue to her centre.

I flatten my tongue and draw one slick line upwards to her clit and her eyes fly open. Blindly, she reaches for something - _anything_ \- to hold on to so I reach up with my fingers and lace them with hers. I repeat my action again, then once more before her hips are rising so far off the bed that she's almost at a 90-degree angle. With my free hand, I guide her back down to the softness of the foam mattress and smooth the skin of her abdomen with my thumb. The motion seems to calm her down and I wait for her pulse to settle a little before pressing a kiss to her clit and inserting a single finger inside of her. My name is spilling from her lips and I silently thank whatever made me choose to put on pajama pants instead of jeans because I am painfully, painfully hard already without the added issue of unforgiving fabric. It only takes a curl of my finger, inside and up towards me, to send her over the edge and into oblivion, the fingers laced with hers taking a crushing as she rides out her climax.

Her body is covered in a sheen of sweat, I notice as her eyes open lazily to watch me watching her. I move to kiss her, to swallow the breaths she's heaving out while she catches a moment, but she brings our knotted hands up to her lips instead, unwinding her fingers from mine before kissing the feeling back into each digit. She burns my skin in the best way.

When she's satisfied that my fingers are working properly again, Erin lifts her body upwards to reach for the waistband of my pajamas. I help her remove them and grab a condom from my drawer. I'm just about to put it on when she reaches into my hand with a smile true enough to bring about world peace. "Let me."

There's something incredibly intimate about letting the woman you love touch you in the way she does. Once I'm sheathed, I'm moving to position myself between her legs but she surprises me, rising to her knees before I feel my whole world shift as her tongue swirls around the end of my dick. _Fuck_. If she does that again, I won't last another minute.

I only just manage to choke her name out and I think she knows what I mean because she lets me lay her down so that she's on her stomach. Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, I kiss my way from the top of her spine, down between her shoulderblades until I reach a stop at the top of her ass. Gently, I bend her knee out to the side and cup my left hand underneath her front so I can use my palm for pressure if she needs it. I slide in with ease and it's like coming home.

Everything but the sound of our deep breaths and soft moans fades into nothing as I push in and out of her slowly; slow enough to be able to kiss her shoulder and rest my forehead against her skin without ever breaking contact.

X

I return from the bathroom and after the other night, I'm not surprised to see her wearing my t-shirt again. It's accompanied with nothing else but rumpled sheets and a satisfied smile. I don't even try and fight the grin that's spreading across my face.

"Will you put on some pajama pants?" she asks quietly. I read her eyes for whatever's made her say that, but I don't find my answer. Still, I oblige, pulling out a pair of plain navy bottoms as I reach the drawer. The ones from earlier won't do.

I'm about to ask whether she wants me to stay on the couch when she draws back the covers in an invitation to join her so I keep my mouth shut and lie down. And that's when I get it.

Silently, she presses herself against my chest and hooks her little finger into the waistband of my pajama bottoms as I wrap my arms around her, crawling closer. There isn't a breath between us now.

"I'll know, this time," she says quietly. My stomach lurches. _This way, she'll be able to tell if I leave_. The realisation breaks me.

I don't know how many kisses I press against her crown until the lump in my throat has dissolved enough for me to choke out a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

Her answering response is her finger twisting round the cotton material one more time.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N - You guys are so amazing! Thank you for each and every review - I LOVE that this story makes some of you happy. So I know it's been a good few days since the last chapter but on the plus side, I wrote a oneshot and we got that Linstead stakeout makeout scene that made me scream like a teenage girl again. I think I may have an actual obsession with Jay Halstead. The arms...the precision of his shots...the way he looks at Erin the way I wish he'd look at me. I need to get a grip!**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter x**

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Let Me Love You

I haven't needed my alarm to wake me up for a very, _very_ long time. This morning though, I fumble quickly to turn it off before the noise wakes Erin who, at this very moment in time, is pressed against my chest, blissfully unaware of the fact that we have to get up because I have work. Her finger is still hooked inside of my pajama bottoms and I shift carefully so that it stays there. Five more minutes. _Okay, ten_.

I finger the waves of her hair, brushing it away from her face so I can watch her lids flicker open before I finally cave and get out of this bed. I'm torn in an internal debate over prising her off of me so I can make her breakfast before I have to leave, and kissing her awake so I get her conscious for ten extra minutes. Who am I kidding? Kissing her's gonna win out every time.

I press my lips to her forehead, taste a little salt from the sweat last night and lick them before repeating the same motion to her temple, eyelids, nose and finally, her lips. There's a low mumble, a stretch during which she unhooks her finger from the material it's been swaddled in for the past six hours, and then a few sleepy blinks of her eyes before I get those green irises and a set of happy dimples at the realisation we woke up together.

"Good morning," I whisper, nudging her nose with my own before tasting her lips once more. Her fingers rake through my hair lazily and I'm so close to calling Voight to tell him I'm sick. It's not even funny.

"Good morning." Erin's voice is raspy with sleep but she's so soft like this: warm skin and heavy limbs. This bed with her in it is my own heroin, but as much as I really, _really_ don't want to shatter the moment, I know Hank will be pissed if I don't make it into the pen on time and so I groan in defeat. "I've got to get up for work."

"Shower?" she offers with a raised eyebrow and the world's most tempting display of wearing my t-shirt I've ever seen, and it just about kills me, but I have to decline because there's no way in hell it'll _just_ be a shower. Not if I have anything to say about it anyway. "Suit yourself," she replies, hopping out of bed and I'm pretty sure she purposefully just revealed that peek of her ass.

"I thought you had a shower last night?"

Erin shrugs. "You got me all dirty."

 _Good God_ , I might just lose it. She closes the bathroom door behind her - not before showing off those dimples, because she knows _exactly_ what that statement just did to me - and I groan again when I hear her turn the water of the shower on.

I'm somewhere between burning the pancakes and spilling the orange juice because I can't think about anything other than Erin when she emerges from the bathroom in a towel with water droplets sliding sinfully down her skin. She doesn't see me staring at her but when she reaches my bedroom door, something must make her turn because she catches my eye, pretty much skips towards me, then fuses our mouths together in a kiss so unexpected I actually trip backwards against the counter. The handle jabs my back but I find it difficult to give a single fuck when her hands start roaming along my abs and searing any skin they find. Does the city of Chicago give compassionate leave for being too obsessed with someone to do your job properly? If the answer is yes, I'd like to abuse that privilege please.

Erin hums into my mouth with a satisfied sigh and then pulls back, walking away without another word. I think my jaw is hanging open as I stare at her ass in that towel until I can't see it any more because she closes the door behind her. I might need to rethink the shower, only...you know...turn it to cold.

When she returns to the kitchen, dressed in the outfit she had on last night, I've managed to calm down enough to brew a decent pot of coffee which she then ruins by _helpfully_ pouring it into two mugs, followed by my travel mug, topping each with too much milk before she realises what she's done.

"Oops. Sorry."

God she's adorable. "I love you."

The smile that breaks across her face is ear-splitting and you know what? I'm going to drink this coffee because I don't even care that it's now going to taste awful. I can always just kiss anywhere on her skin and replace the taste with coconut anyway.

We eat but I don't taste anything because she's so busy ramming in pancakes absolutely _drenched_ in syrup - even though I've put chocolate chips in them - and moaning at how good they taste. After we finish our food and I wince as I down the last drop of coffee in my mug, Erin offers to wash the dishes while I get dressed; our own little slice of domestic heaven that I shouldn't love as much as I already do. I love it even more because I know how much she _hates_ doing dishes.

X

"For how many?" the woman asks on the other end of the phone at the Purple Pig.

"Two," I grin, jumping when Olinksy bangs on the locker room door.

"We got a case Halstead; let's go."

I confirm the time and hang up, shoving my phone into my pocket. I'll text Erin later.

We kit up and we're down by the cars within five minutes. Voight gives us our briefing, reminding me that I'm to stay on the periphery. I'm already back on the streets earlier than he would've liked but this is a big case and we're all needed. Ruzek and Dawson have made jokes about how nice it's been having a personal secretary to answer their phone calls (they've had _two_ between them) and make them coffee (I did it _once_ , and only because I needed a mug of it anyway) but we all know we wouldn't have it any other way. Unfortunately, we know too well how it feels to lose one of our team.

"You good?" Voight asks and we all nod. "Then we go get them."

One of the _them_ in question is Royce Brown, suspected drug dealer thought to have been hired to put a bullet in some hot-shot lawyer after a deal had gone sour. We just have to find the other guy. When you spend most of the time hunting down criminals in places like Riverdale and Auburn Gresham, it's always nice to switch it up and pop a rich boy somewhere nice like Streeterville. Sometimes we like to see how the other half life - Voight, especially.

"You've got a grin on your face," Dawson tells me as I'm flooring the gas pedal behind Voight's car. I immediately drop the smile I had no idea I was wearing but this only makes him laugh and I already know I've been busted. "I guess your date with Erin went well."

We don't usually talk about personal lives - maybe Ruzek's but that's different because he's...well, _Ruzek_ \- but I'm going to make an exception just this once.

"It did."

"It did huh?"

I note the implication and can't help but grin again. "It did."

We park up outside of the address we've got from Brown and it's an easy bust. We tend to find, when the rich contract out their killings, that the guys they choose have questionable loyalty. It's only the rich who protect the rich.

Ten minutes after Brown's arrest, Dawson and I are back in the 300 heading for the precinct and an early finish. I might need to take up going to church on Sundays soon because someone up there is dealing me a damn good hand this week. I manage to carve out the time - not that it takes any effort - in between filling out paperwork and refilling the coffee machine (not because I'm an office boy, but because I'm in a good mood) to let Erin know I'm taking her out tonight. I'll pick her up at 7:30.

 _ **Wear the dress.**_

My heart shouldn't skip like it does when I get a text back:

 _ **For you.**_

X

"Will I need a coat?" she asks and I grin.

"No." _No_. Because if she's cold, I'll give her my jacket. It'll smell like her then, for the next time I wear it. "You look beautiful, by the way."

She's wearing the lace dress again and if anything, it looks even better tonight than it did on Friday. I watch as she fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist, tracing the metal in a gesture that betrays her nerves. She knows we're going to the Purple Pig - I wanted her to know we were doing tonight properly - but doesn't seem to have a concept of how popular the place is and how nice the food is going to be. I just want to show her off.

"Thank you."

"Ready to go?"

"Yes," she answers, but it's hesitant.

"You okay?"

Her fingers knot together. "I don't get a kiss?"

I want to laugh and pull her against me all at once. But then I remember, the last time I didn't give her a kiss was after this very scenario. After she thought I didn't want her. Like that would ever even _be a thing_. There's a genuine hurt pout settling on her lips but I've really got to be careful here because I don't want it to go too far and miss our reservation; she deserves calamari and razor clams after all.

"I wasn't sure whether I should." It's not a lie. "I wanted to do this right this time."

"I was in your bed this morning," she sighs against my lips, demolishing all thoughts of boundaries and what I'm _supposed_ to do. "And you said you love me."

Ah right, _that_. I'm trying not to think about the fact that she hasn't said it back because honestly, I think I can love her enough for the both of us. Still, hearing it from her lips wouldn't be the worst thing in the world…

"I did."

I let her close the distance because that's what she wants and immediately I wonder why the hell I delayed it this long. My lips are soaked in some sort of honey balm by the time she pulls away for air and I think I might be dizzy. Erin puts her hand in mine, closes the door behind us and I right myself again.

There's excitement in her eyes as we reach the door of the restaurant. I'm a little disappointed she's not cold - but there's time for me to give her my jacket later, I guess - though we haven't parked far away and her shoulders are covered by my looped arm anyway. I love how she snuggles closer as we walk along the sidewalk.

A smiling hostess greets us, compliments Erin on her dress which makes her beam, then seats us at the bar while our table is readied. The barman falls over himself to serve her and I have to instruct him to give us a minute to actually look at the drinks menu first. I won't have her rushed.

 _She doesn't know what she wants_. I smile. _She wants to try everything_.

There's a moment that passes between us where I can see her eyes land on the wine list, lingering for a moment before they search for the soft drinks. But she doesn't want a coke, I can tell, and I have to be able to trust her with this because if I can't, there's no point in any of it. Her eyes dart back to the wine list and I watch carefully as they settle on the Chateau De Sancerre. I wait for her to look up at me, which she does after a minute, and I take the menu from her hands, offering it back to the barman.

"Two glasses of the sauvignon blanc, please."

She looks shocked only momentarily before that expression gives way to one of amusement. "I feel like we're pretending," she practically whispers into my ear, the vibrations in her tone sending tingles down my neck and into my arm. Inching closer, she crosses her legs so her knee bumps mine. "I already had the best time."

She gets an 'I love you' at this point because my throat is thick and I don't know what else to say, but the moment is broken by the glasses that are set in front of us cradling almost-clear liquid.

We drink. Erin smiles. I fight the urge to kiss her dimples. The hostess breaks my thoughts when she escorts us to our table. But then I smirk at the sight of my girl in a tight dress because I know I'm going to be the one who gets to take it off tonight.

X

"You want dessert?" I ask, not really looking at the menu because I'd rather watch her. She's like a kid in a candy store and I don't know whether it's the extensive choice of sweet treats or the evening.

"Can we share one? Two spoons?" _It's the evening_.

I feel my lips curving into a smile. "Sure. What do you want?"

She shrugs with the happiest smile on her face. "I don't care."

I pick the raspberry pie because it comes with whipped cream which I might need to wipe from her mouth ( _okay, now I'm just indulging myself_ ) and our waitress collects the menus back in.

It's delicious. Normally, you could give me a pizza, a six-pack and I'm down, but right now, with a mouthful of whatever this creation is, I'm in culinary heaven. Erin is fawning over every part of the dish: the buttery crust, the sharpness of the raspberries combined with the sweet creaminess of the vanilla gelato. Someone needs to give her a show where all she does is eat good food. _I'd watch_.

After I've paid the bill, she asks if we're heading back to my apartment. That's where I'd _like_ to take her, but she's getting a proper date and so I shake my head and drape my jacket around her shoulders; I'm not giving her body the chance to catch a cold. I lace my fingers with hers, watch as she smiles at nothing in particular, then lead her out of the restaurant and along the sidewalk towards a pretty swanky bar. It's not the type of place I'd usually go but they serve beer and have the kind of decor I think Erin might find impressive.

We don't stay there long. She requests the same beer as I get, stands closer than she needs to while I order, and then spends the fifteen minutes it takes us to finish our drinks dragging her eyes from my lips to my chest, sometimes down to my belt and back up again. It takes a significant amount of effort to keep myself in control.

I don't think I've closed my apartment door before she jumps me.

X

One of the first habits to go, the first break in the routine of military life once you get back to a world where there _aren't_ less-than-favourable odds of getting blown to pieces by an IED, is waking up at dawn. Clothing will always still be folded, boots always lined up, apartment clean as a whistle, but the early rising? A lot of people manage to pluck that aspect of military life from their routine, from who they are (or, in so many cases, who they _become_ when the bombs stop dropping and there are no more bullets to fire) early on in their return to _this_ life. For me, the habit slipped long ago, lost somewhere in the hangovers of a Saturday morning and the comforting sag of an old mattress but I'm pretty sure if it hadn't, Erin Lindsay would be the one to break it.

Case in point: she's currently stretched out on her back wearing nothing but those dimples as I rest my head in the valley between her breasts so that my lips are always _always_ touching her skin. Her chest is rising and falling rhythmically in a lull that has me teetering on the verge of sleep, but I'm fighting it because her fingers are kneading my scalp and it feels so damn _good_.

I woke around an hour ago, sometime when she was whimpering in her sleep at nothing she's told me about yet. I wasn't sure whether to wake her or wait it out, but when I noticed the gap between us, instinct told me to pull her against me and the collision of my warm skin against hers seemed to do the trick. She woke properly, with a sleepy smile and a nuzzle of her nose into the crook of my neck, less than twenty minutes ago, and after removing my t-shirt from her body, she's let me lay like this against her ever since.

The rain - or is it hail? - is pounding against the windows and I know in about five minutes, my alarm is going to go off and I'll have to silently bargain with myself over how long, realistically, I can stay here until I have to get up. I mentally calculate how long a shower might take - then add on another fifteen minutes for the potential scenario in which Erin joins me - and then the probable burning of toast because I won't concentrate properly. All in all, I figure I need about forty minutes, which means I can have another ten here like this.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"Wisconsin."

She stops moving her fingers and I reach behind me to nudge them with my own. A laugh shakes her chest, which, in turn, bounces my head off of her skin a little so I feel air between her body and my face. I don't like it. "Wisconsin?"

"My uncle has a cabin there."

"Oh."

"I want to take you."

" _Oh_." That second one was accompanied by a smile, I can tell. "You get vacation days?"

"It's a weird set-up. We usually have less cases in winter - when it's cold. Chances are Voight will give us a string of days in a row. I haven't asked before. We get personal days though."

"And what would we do?" She makes to sit up, to prop her head with a bent elbow so she can reach to kiss me as her eyes sparkle with intrigue. "In Wisconsin?"

"Ice fishing."

"I can't fish."

"I'll teach you."

An image of Erin in a plaid shirt and jeans, warm boots and my oversized winter coat huffing because she hasn't caught anything creeps into my head and I fail to fight the smile crossing my lips. "It's cold enough here in the winter."

"I'll keep you warm."

The image gets an update: me sitting behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she slouches against me in faux-defeat.

"I've never been on vacation," she says without a hint of the sadness that should could with such an admission. "When I was a kid, I always wanted to go to Disneyland. Wear a set of those stupid mouse ears and ride that Thunder Mountain train with my hands in the air."

I press upwards to kiss her; an act that makes her sigh happily as she dangles her fingertips over my skin. Maybe we'll go, one day.

The alarm interrupts us. Erin groans, and reluctantly rolls so I can turn it off, accepting that I have to get up without my even saying so. My hand goes to her neck to hold her skin as I seal my lips over hers, feeling them melt beneath the pressure and it all builds to a crescendo, after which we're both breathless but in the best way. She lets me pull her to the shower and I already know I need to start every day in this way from now on.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N - Lots and lots of thank yous - you lovely, lovely reviewers make my days with your words of encouragement so please keep them coming as they make for the best inspiration :) Like I've said before, I'm in England and we don't get season 4 until later this year, so I have to pray that people upload the Linstead clips to Youtube so I can manage my fix.**

 **For the people who saw the episode last night? How was it? I can't wait to see Lindsay and Burgess as a duo.**

 **Anyway, you probably want me to shut up so you can read. Hope you enjoy xxx**

* * *

Let Me Love You

"So are you gonna ask Erin to this thing?" Ruzek asks me, reclining back in his chair with the stance that gives off just how little work we have to do this morning. The _thing_ he's referring to is the annual police ball, held by the commander to honour the efforts of every police officer in the city of Chicago. It's a huge deal and I've only ever taken a date once - a couple of years ago when I had a thing with a patrol officer - although I'm not sure it even counted as a date if she was invited herself anyway. It's a formal event: a full uniform and salute job, and I'm just not sure she'd want to come. The last time Erin saw most of my team in the same place, she was off her face and got shot in the raid we made on her mom's strip club. Plus, they've seen her curving her body around a pole there (you know, right before she showed them all she was wearing black lace panties). The last thing I want is for her to feel pressured.

"I'm not sure." It's an honest answer. I'd hate for her to come only because _I_ want her to.

"Well _I'm_ looking forward to some fancy food. Plus you know, Kim likes it when I wear my uniform."

We all catch the meaning behind that, and I can't help but laugh when he wiggles his eyebrows. Sometimes, I'm not sure how he even got Burgess to agree to marry him; he's like a kid.

"Right, listen up!" Voight's voice breaks the good humour and his tone already signals that whatever we're about to go to, it's not going to be good.

Ruzek sits up properly and I put down the mug I'm drinking from. Even Olinksy slides his chair out of that little cubby hole he likes to hide in.

"This is Lucas Bright." He places the picture of a young boy - maybe no older than ten - on the board. From the picture, we can all see the ties on his wrists and the shredded clothing betraying a particularly violent death. "Nine years old." Voight's voice is grave. "He was found earlier today, propped up outside of the Lenart Regional Gifted Center in Chatham."

At this point, we all exchange glances because this is a middle class neighbourhood. Whoever left this boy there wanted him to be found. Wanted to make a statement.

"He'd been sexually assaulted and strangled to death. Halstead and Olinksy, you head down to the school; he was a student there. See what they can tell you. Antonio, take Atwater and talk to the parents."

We jump up but Voight's voice stops us. "We bring in the bastard that did this. It doesn't matter if they don't make it here alive."

We head out of the pen without another word.

X

Even when they're solved, no cases involving kids are ever satisfying - even when you get the bad guy and they're locked up (or, _sometimes_ , no longer a part of this world) - because in the end, an innocent child has been hurt. Lucas Bright - an outrageously talented violinist at the tender age of nine - was sexually assaulted and killed as the result of a family feud.

I'll never understand the people who can do things like this, and I never want to.

Sometimes we go to Molly's after these kind of cases because there's something about the burning pain of hard liquor that makes all of it easier to process. Erin isn't working tonight though, so there's no way I'm heading over there. It's already 11pm and I just want to crawl into bed with her and sleep for the next week but I know I'll have to do it all over again tomorrow. Just, with some luck, maybe it won't be a kid.

By the time I've reached my floor and managed to get my key in the lock, my legs are ready to give up and my eyes aren't too far behind either. I open the door with tired arms but the sight inside of my apartment catches my attention before I can shut it. Erin is wearing the apron Ruzek bought me as a joke - the same one she wore when we cooked Christmas lunch together - and appears to be cleaning an explosion of flour off of the counter. I'm not sure I should be as relieved as I am that she's used the spare key from under the mat outside to let herself in, especially given what's happened in Chatham today, but damn is she a sight for sore eyes.

"Happy birthday," she smiles, crossing the floor until she's standing close enough that she can reach on her tiptoes to kiss me. _Right_. That. "I made you a cake," she announces, pecking my lips once before before she tries to pull away - no doubt to show me the results of her labour - but when she's standing close like this, warm and happy and welcoming, I just want to keep her against me so I can remember the good in this world. "Actually, I made you two, but the first one was a disaster. Who knew there was more than one kind of flour?"

I smile at her rambling because I can still remember the instances she hardly spoke to me, and I couldn't go back to that with her. Not now.

"You're sad," she whispers, pulling her head back again but leaving the rest of her body where it is. Right against mine. "You wanna tell me about it?"

I shake my head. "I just want to shut it off."

"Okay." Her voice is soft and knowing. If anyone would understand, it's her. "Why don't you take a shower? I'll just finish up here."

I nod and she makes to move back, but I'd rather have her near me. "Come join me."

Erin's eyes search mine and I don't know what she finds but she finds it quickly because she's the one tugging me towards the bathroom.

We shed our clothes on the floor and I turn on the water while she presses herself into my back so that I can feel her soft skin and she can lay kisses down my spine. We stand like that for a moment while the temperature warms enough for us to step inside of the shower, at which point she releases me only enough so that we can climb inside. Once I've shut the door, she's back against me, her hands working my aching muscles with a lavender-scented foam I didn't buy. The fact that she must have put it there makes me think about how good it would be if I came home to her every night, even if she did burn dinner when I'm late or threw out my toiletries to make way for hers. I can feel the knots loosening as she applies a little more pressure, but then she rests her lips at the top of my spine so that I get the best of hard and soft, gentle and deep.

Once she's done massaging my back, there's a moment in which I feel Erin rest her head against me with a sigh, wrapping her arms around my body so that her fingertips land on my chest.

"I love you," I manage to fight out past the huge lump in my throat. Her response is to turn her head so that her lips find my skin again. No words leave her mouth this time.

The water rains down on us as I turn so I can wash Erin, getting my fix of comfort from touching her _anywhere_. I use the same lavender foam that she used on me, squirting a little into my palm so that it expands when I stroke it over her shoulders and down her chest, my hands sliding over the flat planes of her stomach and down towards her thighs. Even above the sound of the water, I hear her intake of breath as my fingers skim her centre on their descent, but neither of us act on her body's admission. Instead, she closes her eyes and tangles her fingers in my hair.

We stay that way until the water grows cold.

After we dry off and I watch Erin pull on one of my t-shirts with a pair of her panties, I feel a little better - mainly at the sight of my girl wearing my clothes. I don't know if it's a possessive thing, but I love it when she does that.

"So you made me a cake?" I say, fingering the hemline of the blue cotton that's currently covering her stomach. "Or two, actually." The second part of my sentence is accompanied with a smile. Nobody has made me a cake since I was a kid; since my mom made me this chocolate porcupine with nine candles and a pair of wonky eyes.

"I did," she replies, taking me by the hand to lead me towards the living room.

"I never told you it was my birthday."

"I'm still trying to figure out why," she says honestly. "But I got lucky because your brother brought a card over, and I just happened to be enjoying all of the facilities your place has that mine doesn't, so I was able to ask him a few questions."

"Like?"

"Like your favourite flavour of cake."

I'd be surprised if he even knew.

"He didn't know," Erin tells me with a somewhat disgruntled huff and it makes me smile wider. Of course he didn't. "But I figured I'd go with chocolate because who doesn't like chocolate cake?"

The girl picked my favourite. I stroke her fingers with my thumb and offer a kiss against her lips. "Thank you."

"You haven't seen it yet."

Doesn't really matter. I'd love it even if it looked like it had been made by kids. _Kids_. I remember the picture of Lucas Bright and instantly don't feel like celebrating. But Erin is looking at me with such excitement in her eyes that I play along. "So you going to cut me a slice or…"

"You gotta cut it," she instructs. "It's _your_ birthday. You should make a wish."

I wonder, as I slide the knife through the frosting, how many chances Erin got to make a wish on her own birthday cakes when she was a kid. If Christmas presents weren't a thing, I'm not sure how birthdays would have been. Still, I make my wish and she beams as I slice two generous helpings (I know how much she loves dessert) as she grabs the plates.

We eat the cake in the kitchen: Erin sitting on the counter while I stand between her legs, the table a redundant item of furniture reduced to simply watching. Somewhat surprisingly, the cake tastes damn good, but it's made even better by the proud smile she wears at her achievement.

"Thank you," I say quietly, pressing a kiss against her bare shoulder as I put down my plate.

She shrugs like it's nothing. "Everyone should get a cake on their birthday."

I can't not ask. "Did _you_ always get a cake?"

"I had the odd one. You know the funfetti kind with the vanilla icing and all the sprinkles? That was the best birthday. Bunny wasn't drinking and she made this huge fuss; I got out of bed and there were all these balloons in the main room surrounding a present. It was wrapped in this pink paper and I remember I didn't wanna open it because it looked so pretty there."

I hate that her childhood wasn't what she deserved, but I don't get to hear about her past that often, so when I do, I make sure to take in every word she says. Just in case I can do something about it in the future. Make it right for her in some way.

"Anyway, Bunny was urging me to open it, so I did, and it was this multicoloured jump rope. Our apartment didn't have much room and it was absolutely freezing outside, but she wrapped us all up really warm and we went downstairs so I could play with it in the street while she watched. God, we must have been out there for hours but she never told me I had to go inside so she could get warm. It was only when Teddy let it slip about the cake that we went back upstairs so I could cut it and we could all stuff our faces." Erin smiles as she remembers and I offer another kiss against her shoulder; an encouragement to keep talking. Partly because I just want to figure out where she came from; partly because I want to shut off the rest of what happened today and focus solely on her. Her voice can always distract me, regardless of the subject.

"She put on a pot of coffee and let us try some - just to get warm she said - and we ate the whole cake between us. Teddy was sick later that night but it was still the best birthday."

She sighs as I stroke my fingertips along her arms and down towards her hands, entwining our fingers when I get there. "You ready for bed?" I ask.

"Yeah. Just let me brush my teeth."

I help her down and we head to the bathroom together, brushing side by side until we're done and I turn out the light.

We climb into bed like it's something we've always done together, and Erin rustles around until she's positioned herself with her legs tangled between mine, her right hand and head on my chest while we lay there quietly. I run my fingers through her hair, the usual scent of her vanilla shampoo mixed with the sweet sugar and chocolate combo from her cooking exploits. She smells like a bakery.

"You okay?" she whispers against my skin and I feel the goosebumps erupt. It's like my body is hyper-sensitive around her and it's damn near annoying, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Yeah."

"You sure?" She lifts her head to study my eyes, searching again until she finds whatever it is that she's looking for.

"C'm here."

Erin pushes further from my chest so she can offer her lips against mine, and I take them greedily. By the time we have to pull apart for air, my hands are under the t-shirt she's wearing and hers are tangled in the hair at the back of my neck. We don't go further tonight and so she lays her head back down, dark blonde waves pooling across my skin as she tucks her little finger into its rightful place in the waistband of my pants. I think I fall asleep before her tonight.

X

"Close the door!" Erin demands, raising her eyebrows at me as I stand in the doorway to the bathroom ( _my_ bathroom, I might add) as she coats her lashes with mascara.

"I like watching you." God, I sound like a perv.

"It's cheating."

"I'm going to see what you look like later anyway."

"Exactly," she huffs, stomping towards me with a brush coated in black gunk that shouldn't be allowed anywhere near anyone's eyes. "So be patient. I don't want you to see me until I'm ready." She shuts the door in my face and I can't help but shake my head. I am so screwed when it comes to this woman.

If I'd known how excited she'd be about attending this ball with me, I'd have asked her weeks ago. It turns out that she never had a high school dance, and the prospect of being able to look like a princess, even if only for a few hours, is the stuff of Erin Lindsay's dreams. So naturally, I'm going all out. The corsage is in the refrigerator because I wasn't really sure where else to put it, and the earrings I bought her to match her bracelet sit in a box in my bedside drawer. I'll give her them when she emerges from the bathroom, and who knows, I might even get to make out with her before the cab comes.

I finally peel myself away from the wood I'm now staring at to put on my uniform. Erin hasn't seen me in it before and although she knows what I do for a living, there's something different about the navy suit with all the badges - something a little more regal. Should be fit for a princess then, really.

I'm ready in about ten minutes so I wait for her on the couch, with a beer in hand. I haven't had much experience of her getting ready but I _have_ had girlfriends in the past that seem to have spent _years_ styling their hair or changing their outfit so I figure I'm in for a bit of a wait. As always with Erin though, I'm surprised in the best of ways, and I hear the door open before I'm even halfway through my bottle. If I thought she looked good for our date the other week, then tonight, she is the epitome of beauty.

"Is it okay?" she asks in that raspy voice I love so much, self-consciously fingering the dark red material clinging to her hips. "I asked Gabby. I wasn't quite sure...she said this would-"

"-Erin," I smile, cutting her off, but she's still rambling. "Erin," I say again, rubbing my palms down her arms to get her to look at me. When she finally does, I drop a kiss to her lips and she smiles. "You look stunning. Or, whatever the word is that means better than stunning."

My words seem to do enough to convince her because she drops her fingers from her dress before reaching to loop her arms around my neck. "Thank you."

I nod and steal another kiss before she pulls back to look at me. "You look very handsome in your uniform."

"You saying I don't usually?"

I get an eyeroll and a slap on my shoulder that doesn't hurt. She leans her lips close enough to my ear that just her breath is burning tingles all along the skin there in the best way. "You look handsome _all of the time_."

I have to exert a lot of self-control so I don't have her right there on the couch before we leave. I need a prize for stuff like this.

Erin's smirk gives her away and she reaches towards the coffee table to take a swig of my beer. I let her without any kind of protest and head for the box in my bedside drawer.

"Er," I breathe out on my return. I don't want this to be a great big speech about how much I love her, and so I hand her the box as she looks at me quizzically. "I wanted you to have these."

She pops the lid open and I don't miss the gasp that flies from her mouth. "Jay.."

No other words come out. There are tears pooling in her eyes and I swipe my thumbs across the skin underneath them so she doesn't ruin her makeup. I whisper an _I love you_ and pull her to me, kissing her forehead as she nods and clutches at my arm. If I'm not wrong, it's the closest she's been to saying it back.

She rights herself after a minute or so, managing a choked "thank you," as she takes the small diamond studs out of their holders. They look perfect in her ears, just like I knew they would, and while she's fastening the corsage, I put on my hat and wait for her at the door.

I can't wait to show her off.

X

The way Erin is squeezing my hand as we enter the huge hall for the ball tells me she's nervous; it's the first time she'll be meeting everyone as my girlfriend and they all know how we met. I'm a little nervous too - this is a big deal for her and I have no idea where she's plucking this bravery from, but I watch her eyes as she takes a deep breath before heading on towards the bar.

I hear Ruzek before I see him, talking shit about the booze we all know he can't handle, but it makes me chuckle a little and I know Kim can't be far away. Sure enough, when a couple of people shuffle forward, I spot her in a black dress a few yards off to the side of us.

"Hey," I lean in towards Erin so she can hear me above the music. The goosebumps that erupt across her shoulders as a result make me insanely proud. "There's someone I want you to meet."

I steer her towards Ruzek and his better half and after the initial awkward introductions are over, Erin and Kim get to talking while I berate the guy about his choice of shots; _nobody_ should be doing tequila this early in the evening.

I glance over at Erin who's talking animatedly with Kim, and I begin to relax a little, heading for the bar once I know she doesn't need me there. I order a beer for us both and bump into Atwater on my way back to the table. He joins us and there's a great period of around a couple hours where everything is going great.

Things head south after dinner.

Somewhere between the dessert which looks oddly like a loaf of ice cream crossed with jelly (I'm told by Dawson that's it's a Panna Cotta - _I don't ask how he knows_ ) and the next round of drinks, I hear some guy mention "Halstead's hooker".

I rise from my chair quickly and Erin places a hand over my arm. "Jay, don't."

It's too late. "What was that?" I ask the guy - Brown, I think his name is - as I lift my chin.

The guy laughs it off. "You should get the dj to play that T-Pain song."

"What song?" I can feel my jaw ticking as I swallow, and out of the corner of my eye I catch Erin shaking her head, her eyes pleading with me. "It's fine; leave it." I can't.

"Jay," I hear Dawson's voice but it's not enough to pull me back. "He's drunk. Leave it." He gets in front of my face and turns to Brown. "Take a walk."

He mumbles a "whatever," and heads off, but I've already got his face in my mind. I'll catch him later, I think, but then he turns and calls out, "I'm In Love With a Stripper".

I see nothing but red.

Antonio isn't ready for me to surge forward and he crashes against a chair as I grab Brown, taking a swing before he can register what's happening. I know one punch is enough, but when the guy hits back, I lose myself and keep going until I'm pulled back by Voight.

I hear his voice, low and rough in my ear, "Walk it off Halstead."

"Sarge…"

"I said walk it off! Outside!"

When I turn, catching my breath, I see Erin's eyes full of tears and I immediately regret bringing her here. It's not fair that she had to hear that. To be a part of an evening where her situation was ever a joke. It wasn't. It _isn't_.

I head towards the doors, clenching my fingers into fists because I didn't hit that jackass nearly hard enough. The air outside is freezing and my breath forms ironic halos as I reach the railings overlooking the street below. I take a few deep breaths, closing my eyes and hoping to hell Voight's got rid of Brown because I know if I see him again tonight, I won't be keeping my fists to myself.

When I open my eyes, I see my boss standing in front of me looking royally pissed.

"Sarge, he said-"

"-I don't care what he said."

"But-"

"-But nothing. You work for me. I can't have my guys throwing punches because somebody said something they didn't like."

I set my jaw because he just _doesn't get it_.

"Oh, I get it," he continues, like he's just read my fucking mind. "Someone talked shit about your girl and you wanted to teach them some respect."

"Exactly, but-"

"-You made a scene. You made it worse than it was. It was a flippant comment and you blew up, drawing attention to something that was only heard by a handful of people at the most. That's not what I expect from the guys in my unit."

I dip my head, but I'm still seething. It's silent for a few moments.

"Hey," I hear a small voice, _Erin's voice_ , whisper into the night.

"Hey kid," Voight smiles, giving her shoulder a squeeze on his way back towards the doors. "Halstead, I think it's time you called a cab." The expression he's wearing tell's me there's no room for negotiation and so I sigh and push off against the railings. I still don't feel much better.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that in there," I tell her, taking off my jacket to drape around her shoulders because she's shivering. "He's was a dick."

She shrugs. "I've heard worse." Her voice is wavering. "I'm sorry I ruined your night."

" _What_?"

"If I hadn't come, you wouldn't be in trouble with your boss."

 _Is she kidding_? "Erin," I say, reaching forward to touch her but she steps back like she's afraid of me. _Fuck_.

"I'll call a cab," she tells me, reaching in her purse for her phone. I want to punch myself.

"I'm sorry," I apologise, but she shakes her head.

"This is my fault."

"No."

By the time the cab pulls up, neither of us have said anything else.

X

The ride back to my apartment is pretty much silent, save for the cab driver asking the usual questions that come as a result of my wearing this uniform. My answers are pretty succinct and so after a while, he gets the hint and delivers us back in an awkward hush that I'm glad to leave behind once we pull up outside of my building.

Tiredness hits instantly, as does the pain in my hand, but I ignore both in order to make sure Erin's okay.

"I shouldn't have hit him," I tell her softly as I take her coat and hang it by the door. I _shouldn't_ have hit him, but I'm still glad I did. "I'm sorry I ruined tonight for you."

She steps a little closer but I'm careful to keep my position; I can't frighten her. "You didn't. I'm sorry I jeopardised your career." Her head is down and she's wearing an expression I haven't seen in a few weeks. It's like stepping back in time with her and I feel immensely guilty.

"Erin," I tilt her chin with my hands, mindful to keep my fingers light as they brush over her skin. There are tears clouding her pupils when she finally meets my gaze, and my heart slams too hard against my chest. "You didn't."

"I know how careful you have to be," she says, "When you work for the district."

I question her statement with just my eyes, and right when I'm almost giving up on her answering, she responds, "You said, that night I first met you in Bunny's, that you wondered what us girls wanted to be when we were younger."

I remember. It was when we were standing outside of the bathrooms and I had no idea what that meeting would lead to. "I did."

"Well for me," her voice is so quiet that it's almost inaudible. "It was a police officer. I wanted to keep people safe."

I don't know whether I feel proud or ashamed of myself.

"And I know that's not on the cards for me - not with my past," she continues. "You gotta have a clean record right? Well what if I made you ruin yours?"

I take another step closer so I'm able to wrap my arms around her, but she's stiff and so I drop them. "You didn't _make_ me do anything. And as for my record, it's fine. Voight's done far, _far_ worse."

Erin nods but I'm not convinced. "We should go to bed."

The fact that she settles on the edge of the mattress rather than the middle like she usually does has me more worried than I've been in a long time, and it's all my fault. I flick the light off and wait to see if she'll turn and drape herself over my chest, but a good five minutes pass and she barely moves. There's far too much of a space between us.

"I get it. I get why you wanted to shut him up," she says lowly, right when my eyelids are dropping closed. "I'm ashamed too."

The fact that she could even _think_ that's how I feel about her makes me so angry at myself. I have no words to respond with, other than the truth. "I've never been - and I will never _be_ \- ashamed of you."

Her body is far too far away and so I use my left arm to pull her close, the skin around the bullet wound from those months ago protesting a little at the movement, but not enough to stop me. Pressing a kiss to the back of her head before resting my lips there, I take her left hand gently in mine, smoothing her skin with my thumb until her fingers are pliant and I can ease the little one to where it belongs: the waistband of my pajamas.

I hook my own finger in the hem of her shirt. I won't let her go, _especially_ tonight.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N - Huge thank you for the reviews. Also, thanks for the heads up on where to get the Linstead scenes for Season 4 ;) I've spent too long watching the moving in ones...**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

Since the ball, not a night has passed where Erin hasn't slept in my bed. I make sure to ask her, each day, if she'll please stay and even though it's a nod or a yes every time, there's always a small part of me that prepares myself - as I open my apartment door - for her not being there. It's the best of feelings when I see her waiting in the kitchen with an attempt at lasagna - because she knows it's my favourite - or, even better, when she's fallen asleep on the couch because I'm late. If I didn't think asking her to move in would freak her out regarding an ulterior motive, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

The Monday following my fight with Brown was initially as awkward as I'd suspected: Voight hauled me into his office to berate me for getting wound up so tightly (like _he_ can talk) and the rest of the guys were quick to offer their opinions on the douche that ruined my evening - although all along, the proverbial elephant in the room was trumpeting that Erin _was_ in fact, a stripper (and I _was_ , of course, in love with her. I _am_ in love with her). As is always the case in intelligence though, my own shit got pushed aside as soon as we caught a new case, and by the time we'd reached Altgeld Gardens, the whole thing was no longer on my mind.

I'm just doing some research on potential suspects for another case when I hear the door buzz and Platt's voice barking my name interrupts my concentration. I quickly try and rack my brains to see where I might have fucked up enough to warrant a personal visit to the pen from her, but when I look up, I'm caught off guard.

"Erin!"

"Hey," she smiles a little nervously, glancing around while clutching a brown paper bag. "I uh...I brought you some lunch."

I furrow my brows but stand up to take the bag from her. "Thanks."

"Don't worry - I got it from work."

I grin and wonder if she knew I was silently questioning where the pastrami/coleslaw baguette had come from. She's never brought me lunch before. I peck her quickly on the lips - nowhere near the kind of kiss I want to give her - but she's wearing dimples so I'm happy.

"What time do you get off tonight?" I ask. I much prefer when she works the day shift; it means we get our evenings together without either one of us being too tired to do anything.

"Around six."

"You fancy going out for dinner?"

Erin beams and I know I've got myself a yes. So this will be her second ever visit to a restaurant. There's something indescribable that I feel at being the one she's done it with, like she's saved these experiences just for me. Of course, I know that isn't the case, but it doesn't make me feel any less honoured that I get to be the one to take her. She leans in to give me a hug and I hear a faintly whispered "thank you," against my shirt. I hate that she feels the need to say it at all.

When Erin pulls back, I notice her face change, an expression of confusion washing over her features.

"What's up?"

"That guy," she says, nodding over to the board on which we have the photographs of some suspects for our latest case involving a host of drug-related murders. "I've seen him before."

"Which one?" I ask, pulling her closer to the board so she can check out the photo line-up we've got going on. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ruzek rising from his chair to perch on his desk. Even Dawson stands up to listen.

"The one in the middle. He sometimes used to come by Bunny's with…" she trails off, shame creeping into her admission. We all know what she was going to say.

"You know his name? All we've got right now is Zef."

"Szef," she corrects. "He's eastern european. Maybe Czech or Croatian or something."

"Translate that," Hank instructs, appearing in the doorway to his office as if by magic.

"Szef is Polish for boss," Olinsky tells us, sliding in his chair to join the conversation.

"You know where to find this guy?" Hank asks Erin, and I can see the panic in her eyes.

"Hey," I say quietly. "It's okay, you don't have to-"

"-He used to hang out in a bar not far from the club," she cuts in.

"Did he deal from this bar?" Hank continues.

She shakes her head. "Not that I know of. He never had much on him, but uh…" she glances up at me to let me know I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear. "Sometimes we used to go round to his place. Trade services."

The skin on her cheeks flames at the admission and I swallow quickly, attempting what I hope is a supportive smile. Hearing her talk about having sex with men for money or drugs never gets any easier, and I have no idea whether I even have a right to feel angry about what happened, but I do and it's not always easy to hide it.

"You have an address?" Rusek asks, folding his arms.

"Not exactly. I know it's in Wicker Park; not far off North Avenue. Maybe I could show you?"

I shake my head. "No." If this guy's already murdered one person, I'm not putting Erin in any potential danger.

"It's a good chance at a lead," Voight says gruffly. He makes a point of turning to me. "She'd be protected." This time, he turns his body fully to Erin. "You up for this?"

She nods but I know she's nervous; the way her fingers are fiddling with the zipper on her coat give her away.

"Okay. Then let's go."

X

The visit to Szef's house ended up being a bust. There was no evidence of the particular batch of drug we're looking for, and nothing else incriminating either. It's a frustrating result: we know this is our guy. We just have to find a way to prove it.

I'm finding it difficult to care too much about the work we're going to have to do tomorrow however, when I'm sitting across from Erin and she's looking at me like I just gave her ten Christmases at once because I let her pick the restaurant. She's chosen a sushi place and I have to admit, I'm dubious as hell about anything I'm expected to eat without a fork or my hands, but I'll give it a go because it's my first time here too. She loves that we get to try it together.

"What are you going to have?" she asks tentatively, with a puzzled stare at the items on the menu.

"Whatever you pick."

"But I've never had it before. What if I get it wrong?"

I smile. "Then we'll get pizza on the way home."

The way she looks at me after that response is like nothing I've ever seen before. Grabbing her napkin from her lap, she rises from her side of the booth and makes her way to me, sliding onto the cool leather beside me so we're touching. I shift a little so she has more room but she just slides further into me so our knees knock together and I'm enveloped by her perfume.

I'm starting to think this was the best choice of restaurant after all.

When the waiter brings our food - duck gyo-za, tekka maki rolls and a platter of the weirdest-looking shit I've ever seen - Erin reaches for her chopsticks like it's something she's always done, but then proceeds to stab one of the dumplings straight through its centre when she fails to grasp it between the wooden sticks. A small chuckle escapes my lips as I do my utmost to contain the laugh that's begging to escape, and she looks at me indignantly.

"What?"

"Best use of chopsticks I ever saw." I smile, copying her.

To my surprise, the food is actually pretty tasty, but by the time we've finished eating, I'm still pretty hungry: a fact not lost on my girl.

"I should've picked somewhere else," she says apologetically. "Somewhere you can get so full that you can't move."

"Hmm," I muse, dropping a kiss to her forehead. "Somewhere with pie."

At that, she straightens, tilting her head to look up at me. "You like pie?"

 _Who doesn't?_ "Yeah."

"Then we gotta swing by this place I know on the way home."

I get lost for a while at that word: _home_. If I'm not wrong, I think she's using it to refer to my place, which probably shouldn't make me quite as happy as it does, but I'm struggling to care. I envisage her in the future, demanding I buy a new couch that we choose together, only, we _don't_ choose it together because she vitos all my suggestions and I don't even give a crap because I just imagine all of the different ways we can have sex on the one we eventually decide on - which, goes without saying, will be her favourite.

"Jay?" she questions, bringing me into the real world and I'm so ready to forget about the pie in favour of trying out all the ways we can have sex on my _current_ couch.

"Yeah?"

"Can we go? For pie I mean?"

Sometimes I wonder whether she puts that look in her eye on purpose so I'd be unable to refuse her, even if I wanted to. "Sure."

Her hand reaches to cup my jaw in excitement. "I lo…..can't wait to see what you think."

I almost got it. The _I love you_ I've been waiting for. And it was over the fact I said I'd take her to get pie. Maybe I should work through taking her to every bakery in the city until she manages to say all the words.

No, I decide. Because I want to _earn_ that admission, not force it out of her with dessert. I'll keep loving her regardless.

X

"Swap you a bite for a bite," Erin says, holding out a forkful of her chocolate peanut butter pie slice. I cut a piece of my own - traditional apple, because why ruin a good thing? - and turn the fork in my hand so she can slide the sweet pastry goodness off the prongs. We're in what appears to be our dessert-eating position: Erin perched on my counter top while I stand between her legs. The fact that she's only wearing my t-shirt and her panties is not lost on me (neither is the proximity of my couch) and if anything, it makes the pie taste even better. There's a glass of milk sitting beside her - _you can't have pie without it_ , _apparently_ \- which we're sharing because Erin didn't see the point in pouring me my own glass when I can just have hers. She has me wrapped so far around her little finger it's not even funny.

"You full?" I ask after she's popped the last forkful into her mouth and made that noise of appreciation that travels straight to my dick. I leave my little space just briefly to put the plates in the sink, and when I return she's finished her mouthful and is waiting not-so-patiently for my kiss. Dropping my lips to hers, I slip a hand under the t-shirt she's wearing and let it travel south under the waistband of her pajama shorts. I feel her legs tighten around me, pulling me in towards her so that my hips are pressing against her centre and she can feel what she's already done to me. When Erin's hands reach upwards, I tug the t-shirt up and over her head, tossing it onto the kitchen floor. I lift her so I can carry her to the couch - I gotta test out the functionality of this thing - and set her down against the leather. She squeals at the cold but we both know she's going to be warm soon enough, and as I bend to kiss her, her fingers reach to tug down my pajama pants. I figure hers might as well come off too.

"I have an idea," she says when we've both recovered enough to speak and she's laying with her body draped over mine.

I mumble a "what's that?" whilst kissing her hair and tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of her back.

"You need somebody to buy drugs from Szef if you want to catch him dealing that particular batch. Someone who knows what to look for."

I don't like where this is going.

"I'll do it."

"No."

She lifts her head so she can look at me and there's this... _thing_...in her eyes I can't quite place. My fingers stop their patterns. "Let me make it up to you."

"Make _what_ up?"

"What happened at the ball."

Not this again. It's all my fault. "Erin, you have _nothing_ to make up for."

"I can get you this guy. Szef," she says. "I can get him."

"It's too dangerous. No."

"Will you ask Hank? See what he says?"

I already know what he'll say. And it won't match my answer, so no, I won't ask him.

"Please Jay," she whispers against my bare skin as if she knows what I'm thinking. "Let me do this."

Her eyes are pleading with me and she must see the moment I give in because even though I say nothing, she cranes her neck to kiss me softly. "We should go to bed."

X

"Okay Erin, this part fits inside of your ear," Voight explains, handing her the communication piece that'll let her hear us. She's already got a tiny microphone hidden underneath her shirt so we'll know what's going on while she's in there without us. I feel only slightly less terrified at the thought of what she's about to do in the knowledge that Burgess will be posing as her friend, also wanting to score some of this cocaine.

"Don't fiddle with it; it'll draw attention," he instructs. My heart is absolutely hammering at the sight of her getting kitted up like this, and sitting in the car outside Szef's house will practically kill me. Voight knows I'm pissed he gave this whole thing the go-ahead, but he wouldn't budge and so here we are. If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive myself because I'm pretty sure the only reason she's doing this is because she feels guilty about what happened at the ball and she wants to make it up to everyone - even though _none_ of it was her fault.

"Okay," Erin answers quietly, adjusting the hemline of her skirt which is way, _way_ too short for my liking. If she was wearing that at home however, it would be a different matter.

"You good?" Dawson asks, and both Kim and Erin nod. "Then let's go."

The drive to Wicker Park is silent because I can't say anything that isn't 'let's go back' or 'please don't do this' and nobody else seems to be in the mood to chat either. Even Kim is stoic as we turn off North Avenue and onto the block where Szef's house is.

"You got this," Voight tells the women, turning in his seat while I keep watch out of the front windscreen. I have no idea of Erin's response but I hear the unbuckling of seatbelts and I clench my fingers into a fist. "Any sign of trouble, you get her out of there," my boss adds, obviously to Kim. "We'll be here ready to pounce."

There's a sharp intake of breath that's unmistakably Erin's before the doors open and close softly. I watch my girl head up the porch steps and knock on the door, shifting in her heels that don't give her a cat in hell's chance if she has to run. I slam my hand on the dash, "Fuck!"

"Easy Halstead," Voight warns. "She ain't stupid."

No, but I am for letting her do this. I should've kept her barricaded in my apartment or asked Gabby to give her every extra evening shift possible. Szef's door opens, the women walk inside and then it's closed quickly, giving us no glimpse of our guy. I claw my nails into my palms and silently berate myself.

"Long time no see," we hear over the mic. I sit up quickly, releasing my fingers. "Where you been?"

"You know," I hear Erin say, her voice false and exaggerated. It's the same voice she used when I first met her at Bunny's. I feel sick. "Just around."

"Around where?"

"Too far away I guess." I can imagine the shrug she's giving right now. "You still doing the stuff?"

"What _stuff_?"

"That proper shit. I told my girl here it's way better than anything you can get on the street."

There's a laugh that I assume belongs to Szef, before we hear him speak again. "She looks like she ain't even smoked a cigarette before."

"She's new," Erin counters like she's done this a million times. I wonder, somewhere in the back of my mind, whether she has. "So you got some or not?"

"Depends what you're offering."

"What do you want?"

I know this douche will be grinning at her question and I can't wait to get in there and punch his lights out. "Eighty plus your special."

"I don't do that anymore. How about a hundred?"

"You wanna introduce your girl to this right. Your special, plus eighty."

I know Ruzek will be struggling to hold himself back, and Voight must know too because he radios, "Everyone sit tight until we know Erin and Kim have the stuff in their possession."

"Fine," we hear Erin again. "You gonna get it or not?"

"Alekz."

"Okay, we know there's at least one other guy in there, and probably armed," Voight radios. "Remember, until we know the girls have the coke in their hands, we sit tight."

"Got it," Dawson radios back and I flex my fingers back and forth into a fist.

"Erin, Kim," Voight speaks lowly, accessing their ear pieces. "As soon as you have the stuff in your hands, I want you to get out of there."

"Sit down," we hear Szef's voice instruct. "Get comfortable."

"We're not staying," Erin replies. "We're gonna take it back home. She wants to have a little fun with her man."

"No way." There's a fake chuckle. "You take it here." His voice seems louder and I figure he's leaning in towards Erin. "You were always best when you had a little party first."

I catch Voight glancing at me out of the corner of my eye but I stare straight ahead.

There's a rustle over the mic which I figure is the bag getting tossed into someone's hands and then there's a scratching sound, like plastic scraping against wood. Instantly, I know what's about to happen.

"Come on Hank, We gotta go in," I press. He says nothing, and we hear Szef's voice again.

"You a cop?"

It must be directed at Kim and I feel bile rise in my throat.

"No, I-"

"-Prove it,"

There's the unmistakable click of a gun and I'm out of the car before Voight has time to bark any orders. This has gone far enough.

"Halstead!" he hisses with wide eyes. "Take the back with Antonio."

I nod and head round the side of the house, gun at the ready. My legs feel like lead and my pulse is pounding in my ears as we all fall into position. We've lost the feed from the mic by leaving the car and the only good thing in any of this is that we haven't heard gunshots. Yet.

"Chicago PD!" I hear Voight shout, right before I kick in the back door of the house. After that moment, it's a blur. Shots ring out and I have no idea whose gun they come from. My vision is blurred with a hazy mist creeping across my eyes as I search desperately for Erin. There's a guy on the floor clutching his side; I don't know which one he is but it's not any of our detectives. Atwater is cuffing the other guy and that's when I finally see Erin, trembling on the couch.

"You okay?" I gabble, rushing towards her. "You hurt?"

She shakes her head as I examine her all over but there's something not right. She's limp and unfocused and that's when I notice the tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry Jay." Her speech is a little slurred and I already know what's happened. "I had to. Had to prove she wasn't-"

"-Hey," I shush, cradling her against me. It's clear by the evidence on the table in front of her that there were two lines of cocaine where there's now only one. "It's okay."

My words are a lie: I can feel how fast her heart is beating. "It worked?" she questions. "You got them?"

I see traces of white powder on the end of her nose and dust it off gently with my thumb. She cringes, body starting to twitch a little as the drug seeps further into her system. I've failed her in the worst way.

"We got them." I press a kiss into her hair, probably comforting myself more than Erin.

The two guys are hauled into the waiting car by Dawson and Atwater, Ruzek checking on Kim while Voight makes his way over to us.

"You did great Erin," he tells her, eying the coke on the table. His eyes question whether or not she's taken any, but I see the moment on his face where he realises she has. "Take her home."

I nod. "I need to take a personal day."

Voight rises with a matching nod. "Sure. As long as you need."

My car is still at the district and so the boss drops us off there, offering his thanks again to Erin, who's digging her nails into her palms in an attempt to control the trembling. We climb into the 300 without a word, but she's obviously coherent enough to put on her seatbelt so I suppose I have to thank God for small mercies.

X

By the time we reach my building, her eyes are wide with dilated pupils and she's grinding her teeth, her body coated in a sheen of sweat that wasn't there fifteen minutes ago. When I touch her hand, she's hot - _way_ too hot for this time of night at this time of year in that type of outfit. I feel a searing stab to my chest that I've let any of this happen.

"Let's get you inside," I say softly, drawing her towards me in case she becomes unsteady in her heels.

We make it up the stairs without incident and she manages to line her shoes up neatly in their rightful place next to mine. It's almost like she's fine, except her body's betraying her. I sigh deeply, shrugging off my jacket to hang it up by the door, which I lock and pull the chain across.

"Please don't be disappointed in me," she whispers, and my heart aches because I would never, _ever_ be that and she _still_ doesn't know. I pull her into my arms, disregarding the human furnace she's become.

"Erin, I'm not. You did a great thing in saving Kim; a really brave and unselfish thing."

"I didn't want to take it," she continues. "You have to know that."

"I know."

We stay like that for a while, even though I can feel my shirt growing damp and sticky from her sweat.

"You need anything?" I ask. "To help?"

"Cold shower," she replies. "Some gum to chew."

"Okay." My voice is a choked whisper. "Anything else?"

"I should stay on the couch." She dips her head. "One of the side effects is feeling more...you know...than usual."

I think she's referring to being sexually aroused but I can't quite be sure. Until she follows it up.

"I know you heard what went on in there. I don't want to give you the Erin special. That's not...that was never me. Just...I guess it's who I was when I took the gear."

I wish more than anything that I'd found her years before I ever did. We're _not_ sleeping apart. If she doesn't wanna stay in my bed, I'll hang out in the livingroom. There's no way I'm gonna leave her in a room on her own.

"Go run the water," I tell her with a kiss to her forehead. "I'll find some gum."

Once she's out of the room, I release the breath I hadn't realised I was holding, then punch the leather of the couch once, twice, then over and over until my ears are ringing and I realise my eyes are cloudy with tears. I can hear the water of the shower, and so I compose myself, quickly find open packets of both winterfresh and cinnamon gum in a drawer, and head towards the bathroom.

Erin's stripped of her clothes when I knock and push open the door, and she seems surprised that I've joined her.

"Which one?" I ask, watching as her trembling fingers push a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Mint."

I hand her the unwrapped stick before popping another into my mouth, then lean against the sink. She questions me with just her eyes.

"I'd feel better if I stayed in here," I tell her honestly. She just nods with a small smile, chews her gum a little ferociously, then steps inside of the shower.

X

A knocking at my apartment door brings my head up from where it had just fallen - down towards my chest - and I drag my eyelids upwards, forcing my body to last out just that little bit longer. I glance at my watch and see it's a little after two in the afternoon, and then I glance at Erin. She's finally asleep after around forty-four hours without rest. Cocaine really does fuck up your system.

We stayed out on the couch last night - or at least, Erin stayed on the couch while I took up a position on the floor from which I could watch her carefully. I decided enough was enough around 5am when the shakes started and the stomach cramps kicked in. After that, I took up a position on the couch, holding her against me so that the warmth of my body could seep through to hers, and her convulsions wouldn't be quite so violent.

I drop a kiss to her head and shift as carefully as I can so I don't wake her, but it doesn't work and her eyes blink open, her face turning an awful shade of grey before she hot-foots it to the bathroom to throw up. I'm torn between following her so I can hold her hair, and telling whoever is at the other side of the door to fuck off, but when the knock sounds again, followed by Voight's voice, I figure I'd better go with the latter (minus the curse of course).

"Jay," his voice is soft in greeting and I instantly know this is an apologetic visit because he rarely uses first names with his detectives. "How is she?"

I hold the door open for him to come in, then close it behind him. "Currently throwing up."

He nods like it's exactly what he expected, and the action pisses me off. If he hadn't okayed this, we wouldn't be here right now. I'd be at the district and Erin would be serving beer to thirsty customers.

We hear the bathroom door open and Erin pads out, looking exhausted and deathly pale in my police hoodie and sweats.

"Erin," Voight greets her and she offers the smallest of smiles before making her way to stand beside me, pulling her hands up inside of the sleeves so nobody can see them. "I came to say thank you."

"It's okay."

"Actually, it isn't. You went above and beyond yesterday to keep one of our police officers safe. I didn't ask you to do that but you showed great initiative and that helped us complete our case. In short," he says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, "you did good."

She ducks her head, embarrassed at the praise.

"Jay tells me you wanted to become a police officer."

"I did," she answers more self-consciously than she should.

"You did, or you do?"

"I…" she looks up at me, then at Voight and I have no idea where this is going. "I do."

"Halstead?" Voight asks. "Give us a minute?"

I look at Erin to make sure she's okay, dropping a kiss to her hair before heading towards my bedroom. There isn't really anywhere else to go in this place.

I try not to eavesdrop, busying myself with straightening the bed that isn't messy because nobody slept in it last night, and when I've plumped the pillows three times, I open my closet and straighten all my shirts. They're not messy either. I'm just moving on to my drawers when I hear Voight calling me back.

That was weird.

"Everything okay?" I ask, and Erin's beaming so I figure something must have gone well.

"It's great," my boss replies, smiling at my girl. He never smiles at me like that. "Make sure she gets plenty of rest. I can't have her tired on the job."

"What?" I question, looking between the two of them for an explanation.

"Ask Erin. I gotta go. Take care of yourself kid."

She just grins, dimples on display and I have no idea what the hell just happened while I was in my bedroom but someone needs to give me an explanation.

"Hank offered me a job," she announces as soon as the door is closed behind him. "Answering the phones in your unit. He said I can study for any exams I'll need to take if I wanna become a police officer and he might be able to do something about my record."

She's so excited that I can't quite decide if the effects of the cocaine in her system are partly the reason, or whether she really is this happy about working in the 21st. Either way, after the last fifteen hours, happy Erin is a damn godsend.

"That's great," I smile, capturing her lips with mine. I start to imagine coming back into the pen after a particularly shitty case and having her gorgeous dimples waiting for me. "When do you start?"

"Once I'm...when there's no more symptoms."

I kiss her again and tug on the hoodie she's wearing. Her eyes are red and sore, and I know more than anything she needs to sleep this off. "Go to bed," I tell her. "Get some rest."

She nods and laces her fingers with mine. "Come with me?"

Right now, my mattress with her curled up next to me sounds like the best place to be. "Definitely."

X

I'm woken by the cold of the sheets when I roll towards where Erin should be sleeping. Blinking awake, I look for her but she's not here. There's a light on in the hallway and I pull myself out of bed, heading towards the bathroom like I have every night for the past week.

I find Erin slumped tiredly over the toilet bowl, head resting on her forearm as she coughs a little, then vomits. I crouch down behind her, gathering her dark blonde waves into my hand so her hair is away from her face and I can rub her back.

"How many times?" I ask her as she flushes the chain and leans back against my chest.

"Once earlier, but I managed not to wake you. This time, three," she replies, relaxing a little as I release her hair so I can comb my finger through it. I've learned, over the past seven nights, that doing this calms her enough that she can stand, then I can wash her face, hand her some mouthwash and we can head back to bed. It's a fact I wish I hadn't learned (because it's come as the result of the cocaine she ingested) but I have all the same and so I might as well use it to help.

There are no more sweats and her hands don't shake often, but the vomiting has outlasted every other symptom and I'm growing increasingly worried. Being stubborn as she is however, Erin refuses to see a doctor and instead, heads to Molly's each shift with an empty stomach. I wasn't sure whether being around booze would be good for her but other than it turning her stomach a little, she says she's fine. I think the main reason for her missing no shifts other than the initial two after the bust at Szef's place is guilt: Gabby had given her a job when she'd desperately needed one, and already she's leaving so she can work for Voight.

We stay on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor a little while longer while I wrap an arm around her front, holding her to me so I can breath kisses into her hair.

"I've got a couple personal days this week," I tell her quietly, alternating the kisses with my fingers. It's a bit of a lie - I'm on furlough because Voight and I are both worried about Erin - but she doesn't need to know that. "How about we take a trip to Wisconsin?"

She turns in my arms, "Really?"

"Really. I can teach you to fish and we can chop wood for the fire. There's this fluffy rug in front of it," I tell her with a raise of my eyebrows, "almost as soft as a mattress."

I don't miss her smirk, but she follows it up with her fingertips stroking the arm that's wrapped around her. "I'd love to."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N - Huge thank for the reviews guys; please keep them coming.**

 **Sorry it's taken a while for an update. The real world and having a proper, responsible (ahem) job is killing me! Finally finished this one this morning and I think you'll like it - it's my favourite so far ;)**

 **Let me know what you think x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

I should have brought Erin here a long time ago. I've seen her happy, but I'm not sure I've seen her _this_ happy _all the time_. It's a little warmer than normal for the time of year - so much so that she's wearing only a t-shirt with her jeans, showing off just enough bare skin to make me look insanely forward to getting her in the hot tub later tonight. Although the fresh air has returned her skin to its normal colour and not the pale grey she's been sporting for the past week and a bit, it hasn't quite cured her of the vomiting. It's gotten a little less during the night, but yesterday we were out hiking when she threw up in the bushes. Every time I see her do that, it's reminder of what she's sacrificed so our unit could catch two guys and sign off on the paperwork. I'm starting to think it's too high of a price.

She's currently barefoot, relaxing on a recliner facing the lake with her eyes closed and her face tilted towards the sun. As great as the scenery is here, I'm more than happy just to watch her, especially when she notices each great little thing about this place: the way the setting sun bathes the family room in golden hues a little before dinner time; the swooping action of the darters as they grab the fish effortlessly; the view over the lake from the hot tub once it's fully dark and all the stars come out to play. My favourite light in which to view Erin's dimples is definitely that of the twinkling fairy lights strung above the wooden hot tub in the backyard of this place.

"Babe?" she questions softly, and my heart swells at her use of the endearment. She used it for the first time on the drive over here, when we stopped for gas and on her way into the store, she called back to see if I wanted anything. _Babe, you want some gum or a twinkie or something?_ I got so lost in her words, replaying them over and over again in my head that in the end, she gave up waiting I think, and brought me some Jolly Ranchers back out. I hate the things. Ate them anyway.

"Yeah?"

"I'm kinda hungry. Can you make that ridiculous pizza again for dinner?"

I laugh. "You had that last night!"

"But it was so good," She cracks an eye open to peak at me and it doesn't matter if we'd eaten that pizza every meal of every day for the last year. I'd make it again for her in a heartbeat.

"You want the guacamole too?"

"I want an exact replica," she instructs, opening her other eye while leaning her body over towards me. She wants me to kiss her. I'm never going to not oblige. "Including the part after."

The _part after_ she's referring to, is a dip in the hot tub, during which I make a play that involves massaging her back, but really it's just a ploy to get close to her bikini ties so I can _accidentally_ loosen the knot enough that it falls open. We kiss - a lot - and then she'll climb on top of me, the water sloshing over the sides as she rolls her hips and I just about lose my mind. And afterwards? I'll carry her to the bathroom so we can dry off, and then we'll do it all again in the king bed I need to buy for my apartment.

"That," I say, leaning in to capture her lips with mine, "is something I can do."

We head inside around a half hour later, when the sun has sunk low enough that it's warmth is too weak to stay out without a sweater at least. Besides, I can hear Erin's stomach growling and I've been around hungry women before; I'd rather not keep her waiting.

She wants to help, and so I let her grate the lime zest and squeeze the juice into a dish, ready for the avocado. There's no way I'm letting her near a knife if she doesn't have to use one - especially after the Christmas Day fainting incident. Her trembles have just about completely subsided, yes, but I'm not risking that beautiful skin just so she can get her guacamole faster.

"You get all the good jobs," she faux-grumbles, but I know she doesn't mean it when I get a side-smile and that dimple display.

I wink. "You have no idea."

I light the fire just before the pizza's ready, but we both pull on a hoodie each (mine, incidentally) so we can head back outside to enjoy the sunset while we eat. The flames should warm the room enough so when we come in, I can show her just how soft that rug in front of the fireplace is. Maybe I'll get one of those for my apartment too.

X

I'm woken by the sound of the shower. From the proximity of the noise and the direction of the shard of light jutting out from the door, I can tell Erin's in the bathroom just off of this bedroom. Craning my neck to read the time, I see that it's a little after 3am and there's only one explanation for why she'd be in there: she's been sick. Again.

I decide, on my way to the bathroom, that regardless of her opinion, I'm taking her to the doctor's office in the morning. I'm pretty sure there's absolutely no way she should _still_ be suffering like this, or at least, if there is, maybe she can get something to help.

I knock on the door and it pushes open. She's been following the rules I set regarding locked doors to the letter: apartment doors stay locked at all times but bathroom ones are always open. It goes without saying why this is the case.

I lean against the sink while she finishes off, then hand her a towel when she slides the door open.

"Thanks," she says softly, pulling the soft white cotton around her body.

"That bad you needed a shower huh?"

She nods sadly. "I just wish it would stop."

Erin doesn't let the sigh escape her mouth like I know she wants to, instead, reaching for a second towel to dry her hair. I help her out by passing it in her direction and she smiles gratefully.

"Me too baby."

I help her get dry, rubbing the cotton gently so it captures the water droplets trickling along her skin. Before long, she's succumbing to the tiredness I know she must be feeling - waking every single night to throw up the contents of your stomach must be exhausting, and even though she's putting a brave face on it, the slight redness under her eyes first thing on a morning gives her away.

Once I've brought her some clean stuff to sleep in, I leave her to it, heading for a glass of water to put by her side of the bed so she's got something fresh to drink. We settle back against the mattress, sinking into the comforting embrace of the feathers before I hold her to me, burrowing my face into the back of her neck.

"I'm taking you to the doctor's office in the morning; maybe they can give you something," I say softly, pressing my lips against the nape of her neck in a kiss. "No arguing."

I'm not expecting it, but she agrees in a single exhale. "Okay."

I fall asleep inhaling nothing but vanilla.

X

I figure I've done the right thing by insisting we see the doctor because when I offer Erin the chocolate chip pancakes I know she loves that following morning, she tells me she still feels a little queasy and would rather just have a slice of toast. The fact that all she does is nibble the edges has me worried because my girl usually loves her food, and this just isn't her.

By the time we're waiting to see Dr Manning, I'm feeling a little anxious about the story we're about to tell. I am _not_ having her feeling ashamed that she took that cocaine, and so we've decided that I'll show my badge and explain the only reason we're here in the first place.

"Erin Lindsay?"

Erin rises and looks to me as if she expects me suddenly to back out and decide I'm not accompanying her into that room. I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile before kissing her forehead and placing my hand on her back to guide her in the direction of the female doctor.

Once we've closed the door behind us, I flash Dr Manning my badge, which - judging by the expression on her face - seems to freak her out a bit, but quickly elaborate while Erin fiddles with the zipper on her jacket. I'm not 100% sure she buys it, but she asks no further questions, instead, explaining that she'll need to take a urine sample so she can determine the level of drugs still in Erin's system.

There's an awkward moment after Erin heads to the bathroom, where Dr Manning and I are left alone and I try to fill the silence with questions. She must be able to tell I'm nervous (although, I'm not quite sure what I'm nervous _about_ ) and reassures me that they'll be able to give my girl something to help with the vomiting. I just want her to be okay. I _need_ her to be okay.

I'm not sure how many minutes pass - during which I stare at the posters on the walls without taking in even a _word_ of information - before Erin returns, self-consciously clutching her pot which she then hands to the doctor.

"If you give me a few moments, I'll take this for testing."

"How long will it take?" Erin asks.

"We should get the results within 48 hours, so make sure you leave your details with the receptionist so we can call you. When I come back, I'll talk you through some of the possible ways in which we might be able to help you." Dr Manning replies, excusing herself out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Erin whispers once we're alone and what feels like hours have passed in silence.

I have no idea how she continues to think that this is her fault, or what I can do to convince her otherwise. "You don't get to say that any more," I tell her, because it's the only option I haven't tried. "It's me who should be apologising, or Voight, or Burgess for not doing something to help the situation, or - _hell_ \- Szef, or…" I trail off as the door opens and Dr Manning returns with a smile that I feel is inappropriate, but I guess she has to appear pleasant in these kind of situations when the reality is anything but.

"Erin," the doctor says in a tone that immediately makes my panic rating ramp up from the 8.5 out of 10 it's been sitting at to a clear 100. "It might be better if you and I talked alone."

I glance at her and she looks like her world is caving in. I place a hand on her knee and do what I can to make her calm. "I'll be right outside."

I try to leave but she's clamped her own hand around mine in some sort of death grip; I couldn't disappear even if I wanted to. "I want him to stay," she says to the doctor. Her eyes turn to me. "Please stay."

Nodding, I turn to the doctor who smiles again. "That's your choice."

I press a kiss against Erin's forehead and feel her relax ever-so-slightly against me.

"Erin, the reason you've been experiencing the vomiting, might have initially been the after-effects of the drugs in your system," Dr Manning explains. "But there's also another possible explanation: you're pregnant."

I think there's a ringing in my ears. I'm pretty sure I've lost focus and my skin is all of a sudden burning.

"Congratulations," the doctor adds with another smile.

There are too many questions in my head, all fighting with one another to escape from my mouth but in the chaos of my brain right now, not a single one manages it. _How far gone is she? Is it mine? Have the drugs harmed the baby? Is Erin going to be okay? What about the last time - at Christmas? How can I make sure she's safe?_

"How…" I hear Erin's cracked voice break into a whisper and it brings me back into the room. "How far...I mean...how...how many…"

"Five weeks," the doctor confirms.

Erin peeks up at me and I already know what she's trying to tell me with just her eyes. _This baby is mine_. There's an indescribable feeling swelling in my chest - kind of like pride, but also terror and excitement and...yeah... _pride_. I squeeze her fingers with mine, kissing her hair over and over as I watch a few tears spill from her eyes.

"Would you like a moment?"

I nod gratefully at the doctor, breathing a quick "thank you," as she heads out of the room to leave us to it.

"I didn't do this to trap you," are the first words that leave Erin's mouth. "I promise."

" _Trap me_?"

"I've been taking my pill. Ever since I got tested and the results came back negative. I haven't missed one."

She's defending herself. She thinks I'm going to think she did this on purpose. Does she think I don't _want_ it?

"We made a baby," I whisper, completely in awe. "I'm gonna be a dad."

Saying it feels even better than thinking it. The thought of holding a tiny human in my hands though - one that has Erin's eyes and Erin's dimples and Erin's freckle-free skin - has me breaking out in what I know is a shit-eating grin.

"You're not mad at me?" she asks. "It's not too soon?"

I pull her into my arms because she _has_ to know that I'm okay with this. More than okay with this. And yes, it's soon and we've got a ton of other shit going on - not least the fact that she did a line of coke only a week ago - but _God_ , I want this. I want it with _her_. "I love you Erin. I'm _not_ mad." I know she needs to hear it. "And granted, it's soon, but so was me falling for you, so...I'm in if you are?"

I hear her sniff back her tears but she finally lifts her head to look me in the eye and I think I see a spark of excitement there; she wants this too. "You sure?"

"That I love you? Yes. That I want this? Absolutely." I'll say it every day until she's convinced, and then every day after that because I know some part of her is always going to need to hear it.

She turns into me in response, pressing her lips against my shirt, right where my heart sits. I drop a kiss to her head and we rest.

X

I can't stop staring at Erin's stomach. We're lying in bed and instead of being wrapped around me like she usually is, she's currently on her back, hair fanned out across the pillows as I lie on my side, propping my head up with my hand so I can watch her. It's incredible to think that something the size of only a sesame seed growing inside of her can evoke so much love already. She's indulging me by letting me trace patterns across her bare skin with my fingers, dancing delicately below her bellybutton where she's soft and sensitive. I just want to shut us up inside of this cabin for the next eight months so she can grow our child inside of her and I can keep them both safe.

We won't know whether there are still drugs in Erin's system until tomorrow at the earliest, but Dr Manning had assured us the most likely cause of her vomiting was the new life inside of her. She'd suggested ginger ale and soda crackers to try and help, and so we swung by the store on the way back here. There is, apparently, very little risk to the baby regarding the cocaine, though I know Erin feels guilty because so do I. We're not really gonna get much sleep until we get those results (and even then, my sole purpose is going to be worrying about my girl and my kid, so that's probably pretty much it for life on the sleeping front) but I'm doing my best to keep her reassured that everything's going to be okay.

"If it wasn't yours," she says suddenly and without warning, "I don't know what I'd do."

A lump forms in my throat because we've always used some sort of protection, and this situation could easily have been different. When I reflect on it though, had this baby not been mine, it wouldn't have changed much. I'd love her regardless.

"I'd love you both," I say, breathing kisses across down her jawline. It's the truth and I know it. "But I'm so glad it is."

Erin doesn't say anything else, just closes her eyes with a soft sigh of contentment and I flick off the light. Her finger fidgets its way to my waistband and we're out.

When I wake, a couple of hours later to an empty bed and light peeking under the door, I feel less panicked than I have in the past week. Making my way towards the bathroom, the silver slivers of light from the moon are shooting through the expanse of glass facing the lake, illuminating the couch and its many scatter cushions. I make a detour, grabbing a couple and stuffing them under my arms before I knock lightly on the bathroom door and push it open.

"Hey," I say softly, offering Erin a small smile. She's resting her forearms on the edge of the toilet bowl and she looks utterly exhausted, but also kind of happy.

"Hey,"

"You been up long?"

"Ten minutes," she replies, shuffling on her knees. "Only been sick once."

"That's better, I guess?"

As if on cue, she doubles over and coughs her vomit into the bowl, flushing the chain with a shaky hand when she's done. My heart both breaks and swells at the same time.

"Here," I say, easing her knees up off of the tiles one-by-one so I can push the cushion beneath her. Laying the others down so she can sit back, I kiss each of her fingers so she lets go of the hair she's holding off of her face and I can take it in my own, teasing the strands backwards in what I hope is a soothing motion.

"You don't have to stay; you should get some sleep," she says, running her free hand over her forehead. I notice she catches a little sweat in her palm, so I pass her the cool flannel from the sink. "Thank you."

"I'm staying." I kiss the back of her head and feel her weight sink against me. My fingers continue to comb through the waves of her hair as her muscles relax somewhat.

"What's your favourite word?" Erin asks, catching me off guard so that my fingers momentarily stop their work.

"What?"

"I want to know everything about you, Jay Halstead," she says, turning slightly in my arms so I get to look in her eyes. She's so sincere that I'm lost for a minute. "I need to know who you were before."

To be honest, I'm not sure _who_ I was before Erin.

"As a kid, my favourite word was grasshopper," she tells me and if anything, it makes me fall in love with her even more.

"And now?" I ask.

"Jay."

"What?"

"That's my favourite word." There isn't a hint of not being serious in her tone. "For so many reasons."

I want her to tell me them all, but I'm having trouble saying _anything_ right now. I manage to seal my lips over hers in a shaky kiss which is a promise that I'll _always_ do right by her; that my name won't ever become a curse word.

"Onomatopoeia," I finally manage to answer, and I get a soft giggle and an eye roll. Then she's serious again.

"I hope our kid's smart like you."

We spend the rest of the night holed up in that bathroom asking all sorts of ridiculous questions and laughing at equally ridiculous answers. I can't find the right words to tell her just _how_ much I love her. She falls asleep against my chest and, reluctant to wake her, I cover her with a towel. Her eyes don't blink open until morning.

X

We get the results from the doctor's office the next day and, as Dr Manning had suspected, there are no traces of drugs left in Erin's system; the vomiting is all baby. The relief that everything is fine is like no other, and it confirms our plans to head back to reality, as much as neither of us want to leave this place. I'm in Voight's good graces right now, but I figure if I stay away too long, I'll soon know about it.

After spending a final day absorbing the rays of the sun and generally wishing we never had to go back to Chicago, we pack up the car and start the trip south so Erin can begin her job answering the phones in intelligence. I'm a little hesitant about her working while she's still feeling fragile, but she insists she's not sick. I flinch when she adds in that if things were different, she'd be going to work at Bunny's regardless, and she spends the next half hour apologising because all she meant was work is work, and she's more than grateful to be starting _this_ job. I figure the less personal days I take right now, the more I've got for the upcoming months and so put in a call to Voight to let him know I'll be back in the morning. He wants Erin as soon as possible, but she's got stuff to work out with Gabby first, and he's not about to put pressure on her to be in two places at once. I realise, when he tells me that, that I've been more grateful for Hank Voight being my boss in the last few months than I have about it all for the rest of the entire time I've worked for him.

We stop for gas along the way and Erin asks me what I want from the store - adding her _babe_ at the end this time. I reel off my order for an obscene amount of sugary snacks before she heads inside, the hem of her plaid shirt blowing in the breeze where it's come untucked from her jeans. I figure, as I'm filling up the tank, that I should buy some cookbooks that at least have a series of balanced meals gracing the pages; it's all well and good Erin and me eating this crap, but the baby's gotta have the vitamins and nutrients it needs. Making a mental note to hit up Amazon tonight, I pop the gas nozzle back into its holder and head inside of the store to pay.

I find my girl browsing the candy bars, already carrying a basket full of the most unhealthy stuff imaginable. There and then, I make a silent promise that I'm going to give her everything she needs, and so I start rifling through the basket, taking out the Skittles and M&Ms cookies first, at which she protests with an indignant,

"Hey!"

"Baby needs proper food," I say, brushing my lips against hers before putting the items I'm now holding back on the shelf. In the end, I decide we're not having any of it because there's a perfectly good Italian place a couple miles away and she can sit at a real table with real cutlery to eat. It's got to be better than the processed crap this place is selling.

After I've paid for the gas and Erin's forced me into letting her have a Butterfinger - _just to keep her going_ , she says - we head to Picolino's for pasta and I spend the entire time watching her shovel in mouthfuls of Ziti, thinking about how nice it would be to bring our kid here on the way back from a family vacation to the cabin.

X

There's something different about heading to work this morning. Leaving Erin in my bed - because she's not at work until later tonight - was a bonus because when she's not forced to get up, she wears this sleepy smile when she looks at me and her hands always, _always_ reach to pull me back down to her when I've just got dressed so she can kiss me lazily. They should have me talk to kids in schools about self-control because I've exercised it more since I've met Erin than I have in the rest of my life put together. She makes me lose my damn mind.

"Halstead!" Voight barks at me - just as I've taken a seat at my desk - and already, my positivity is taking a nosedive. It's not even eight. He can't be pissed at me already... I make my way to his office, much to the delight of Ruzek and Atwater who are making jokes about me no longer being the favourite ( _like I ever was_ ) and take a seat opposite my boss.

"Sarge?"

He extends his hand towards me and I can feel my face forming a frown. "Congratulations."

I shake it dumbly, not quite knowing what I'm doing, and Voight perches on the edge of his desk.

"So Erin's pregnant?"

How the hell does he know? "She _told_ you?"

"No. Your face did. I know that look." He pops his tongue inside of his cheek and nods at me. "Wore it every day for a month when I found out Camille was pregnant with Justin."

I'm already pretty certain that whatever this look is I'm apparently wearing, it's going to be etched into my face a damn sight longer than a month. Try the next eighteen years. And probably after that.

"It's really early," I find myself saying.

"But she's okay? After everything in Wicker Park?"

"Yeah, I think. The doctor seemed to think the baby would be fine."

"That's good," Voight replies, his voice gravelly but sincere. "You look after her, you hear me?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. We'll make sure she's alright here."

"No jobs."

He nods. "No jobs. Just the phones and research."

"Research?" That's been added since his visit to my apartment.

"She seems like she has an eye for this. We'll see what she can do."

I smile gratefully and think about the girl who's currently lying in my bed, almost undoubtedly tangling herself in the sheets I'll have to straighten later. It's the kind of life I didn't know I wanted until I met her. I'm interrupted from my thoughts by Voight.

"Get out of my office; find something to do."

And that's that.

X

I can't breathe. Can't see straight. Can't feel anything other than the blinding panic of searching for a way out of wherever I am - which I know somewhere in the back of my mind is the road leading to my apartment building, but that one rational thought is being suffocated by the noise of shelling, of screams and cries and destruction.

Somehow, I manage to steer the 300 to the edge of the road and my legs are shaking, my entire body drenched in sweat. When the vicious rumbling ceases for a few seconds, I hear the shrill wheeze of my breaths, laboured yet frantic and it takes me several attempts at finding the door handle before I manage to wrench it open, the bullets of white thrashing against my body in wave after wave of attack until I make it inside the door, and even then my skin stings with the relentless flashbacks. I feel sand coating the inside of my mouth, dry and grating every time I try and swallow. Everything is covered in black spots so navigating my way is near-impossible, but somehow I make it to the door of my apartment, where, for a few seconds, I can reason with my brain that this isn't Iraq. That we're not under attack. That there's salvation awaiting at the other side of the door.

But my apartment has windows. Hail against glass makes for an awfully accurate replica of the sounds of a siege you're on the wrong side of, and I'm back there again, desperately searching for a way out. A howling screeches, whistling shells dropping in flashes of orange and I need to get away from it; need to not see, not hear, not feel.

I stumble down the hallway, the walls pressing closer like the dry earth of a trench's protective shield but I can still hear the bullets overhead. There's a bang and a subsequent pained howl that I fear might have erupted from my throat, and I just need to get to cover.

I'm wet. It's the only thought I have. I'm wet. It's raining. I ache. My muscles are screaming but I'm wet and it's raining and it's making it so hard to drag my body anywhere. I have to rest. The walls are wet - it's _really_ raining - and my hands slide as I try and steady them. It doesn't rain in the desert. It doesn't rain but yet it's raining now and my clothes are heavy.

There's a blast of air. It's warm. It's still raining but the air has changed and I can't open my eyes because I don't know what I'm going to see. I don't know how many bodies there'll be; what'll be left of the trench; what colour the sand will be - red on gold is such an _ugly_ brown. And then comes a sound that isn't shelling. Isn't bullets. Isn't death. It's gentle: an oral white flag, but I can't prize my eyelids upwards because it could be a trick.

But then comes a touch. A touch that isn't rain or a bullet. It matches the sound: gentle and coaxing. It meets my eyes, fluttering like a butterfly tentatively exploring a new world until it forms a shield against the rain.

" _Jay_." The word breaks through. Somehow manages, even in its clemency, to overcome the rain and the shells, the bullets and the agonising shouts. With everything I have, I force my lids upwards a crack and I get white. An angel maybe. Heaven.

And then there's a touch. The shield keeps the rain off and there's a brush so light on my arm that my lids rise again in search of the feather that must have dropped. There's skin. Skin on mine and my head lifts - enough, just enough so I see her. So I know: I'm home.

"Erin?" Her name doesn't come out right. It's broken and in more than the two syllables it should be. I stare in case she disappears but her hands reach to stroke the sides of my face, her touch warm in comparison to the cold rain.

"It's me," she whispers, her voice dancing a trail of light through the darkness. "I'm here. I've got you."

My legs crash and I sink against the wall but she's got me, pressing herself against my chest so the rain doesn't penetrate my skin, and it's only then that I realise: we're not outside. We're not on the battlefield. We're at home, in my shower and her skin is covered in goosebumps. She's _freezing_. I'm freezing. The _water's_ freezing.

As if she knows, she reaches behind her to the knob, turning it clockwise so the icy stream eventually warms and I realise we're both wearing our clothes, soaked to the skin and heavy.

"Erin?"

Her hands come back to me, tracing the outline of my jaw, my eyelids, my lips before she ghosts her own in a whisper across my skin. "I'm here," she breathes. "I'm here Jay. I'm here; I love you."

My eyes search hers with the last bit of strength they have left.

"I love you," she whispers again, dropping her head to the crook of my neck where I feel her exhale before she presses kisses against the skin there.

My hands reach for her t-shirt of their own accord, tugging it up and over her head so that it lands with an unforgiving clap on the floor. The noise makes me jump and her hands go to my chest, smoothing over my heart until it slows. When she's satisfied, my own t-shirt joins hers on the floor of the shower, but she's careful to lay it down gently, her eyes never leaving mine. I rest my bare chest against hers, feeling her stomach - still flat and unassuming - press against the belt of my jeans.

"Move in with me." The words leave my mouth in desperation. "And not just because you're pregnant, but because I want to come home to you. I need you." I'm panting suddenly, out of breath. "I love you."

Erin stares at me, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. And then she nods, wrapping her entire body around me so I'm surrounded by everything _her_ that's good and pure and perfect.

I devour her mouth; a match for the storm outside because words aren't enough right now, and she responds with a soft moan that has me fumbling for the button on her jeans. I strip them from her body, along with her panties, before she forces mine off and I use the brief break in contact to slow my limbs; make sure I love her right.

Because _she_ loves _me_ too.

X

I don't know how long we stay in that shower, wrapped up in each other far away from the sounds and sights and smells of that battlefield but when we finally leave, the outside world is a soft, quiet white.

"Thundersnow," Erin breathes. "It used to be my favourite type of storm."

I don't say anything, just towel off and tentatively step out of the sanctity of the bathroom to find something to lounge in. It's not early enough for bed, and it's only now that I realise Erin is home way earlier than I'd expected.

"What are you doing home so early?" I ask as she joins me in the livingroom, then smile because I can use the word _home_ now to mean home for _both_ of us.

"The storm killed business. Nobody wants to go out in that and I volunteered to be the one to come home."

"I'm glad you did." It's the truth.

"Me too."

I sink into the couch, breathing my relief at the passing storm which has blanketed the world outside in white. I hate the stuff at the best of times, but this close to Spring - especially after the crazy-nice weather we had in Wisconsin - it's especially awful. Teamed with thunder and lightning just adds insult to injury.

Erin makes her way across to me, crawling on top of the couch so she can lay between my legs with her head on my chest. I comb my fingers through her hair after she settles so that I can hear her breaths even out to a calm serenity where she's flirting on the edge of sleep.

"Will you tell me about it some time?" she murmurs against me so that her breath does this weird thing where it burns goosebumps along my skin. "Iraq?"

I haven't told anyone about what happened on that tour. But confessing what I saw and what I did to Erin doesn't seem completely out of reach. Just...not yet.

I kiss her hair. "Yes." She snuggles closer. "Just not tonight."

"Not tonight," she repeats softly, her lips pressing against my chest. "But just know I want to listen." Judging by her yawn, she's just about asleep. "I love you."

I lock my ankles around hers so she's not going anywhere. "I love you too."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N - Thank you so much for the reviews. I love reading them all. Sorry this chapter has been a while in coming - and is a little short - but the story needed this before I could move on. I'm figuring there are about four or five chapters left, after which I have a new Linstead story planned. Any requests, just let me know :)**

 **Enjoy - and please drop a review at the end x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

I wake up to an empty bed and glance at the clock: a little after 3am - right on cue. I throw off the sheets and run a hand over my face. If I'm feeling this tired, I can't even begin to imagine how exhausted Erin must be.

We fell asleep on the couch after our shower, and it was only the banging of the apartment door across the hall that made me jump awake. I was able to rouse Erin with a gentle shake, easing her off me so I could carry her to the bed. I wasn't about to let her sleep all night on the couch if she could have feathers and cotton.

I find her in the bathroom, crouched over the toilet with her forearms resting on the bowl.

"Hey," she says softly, offering me a small smile as I bend down to kiss the top of her head.

"Hey back," I reply, taking up my spot behind her. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Her response seems true enough, and I pull down the clean towels so I can put them under her knees; these tiles are pretty unforgiving. Right on cue, Erin vomits into the bowl and I rub her back, wishing more than anything that I could go through this so she doesn't have to.

"Maybe we should see a doctor again," I suggest. "They might be able to give you something."

She shakes her head. "Jay, I'll do this every night if I have to."

This kid's gonna have the best mom. "You have any idea how much I love you right now?"

Erin grins and I get the dimples. "Enough to make me carrots and strawberry jelly?"

She's just thrown up everything in her stomach and now she wants two food items that are pretty much unrelated? That combination sounds kind of gross.

"If that's what you really want?"

"It is," she replies and I offer one more kiss to the top of her head before I get up to make her food. "I love you," she breathes, just as I'm exiting the room. And I don't care that she's just been sick. I cross the bathroom and press my lips to hers. If I never hear anything again, I'd be happy those those words were the last things I got.

She joins me in the kitchen around ten minutes later, having washed her face and brushed her teeth. Hopping up onto the counter, she uses one of her hands to dunk the carrot sticks into the dollop of jelly I set on the plate, the other one toying with the edge of my t-shirt sleeves as I stand between her legs, my fingers running patterns up and down her bare skin.

"I wanted to ask you something," Erin says, somewhat tentatively as she takes another bite of carrot.

"Sure."

"Will you come with me to pack up my apartment?"

I can't believe she even has to ask. Even now, after everything, there must be some part of her that thinks I'm not going to be what I said I'll be for her. What I _know_ I'll be for her. It's no use making a big deal out of it. Eventually, she'll know.

My lips brush against her collarbone; I just can't seem to stop touching her. "Of course."

She kisses me and I taste strawberry. It tastes better off her lips. "Thank you."

I shake my head because it's not something she needs to thank me for. She just kisses me again, finishes her final carrot stick and hops down off of the counter so she lands against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as I inhale her vanilla-honey scent and close my eyes. Sometimes, I can't believe we made it to this point.

X

We pull up outside of Erin's building and although she pretty much jumps out of the car, I'm having trouble doing the same when I'm hit by wave after wave of flashback: dropping her off for the first time; offering her money; her thinking I wanted only to sleep with her; her answering the door of her apartment with all those bruises and cracked ribs; finding her almost unconscious after overdosing; picking her up for our first date; gripping that bunch of flowers way too tight in my hands because I was nervous. And yet, despite everything, here we are, ready to pack up all of her stuff so that her home and my home are the same place.

"Jay?" she questions while I'm still a good ten feet behind her.

"Just thinking," I say by way of explanation, and I immediately see the doubt settle in her eyes.

She stops still, waiting for me to catch up. "If you've changed your mind," her voice is practically inaudible, "it's okay; I understand."

"Erin," I lace her fingers with mine and give them a gentle squeeze, "If I hadn't thought it would freak you out, I'd have asked you to move in with me weeks ago."

Her resulting beam makes me smile too, and she tugs me towards the building I'm so glad she's no longer going to call home.

The front door lock is still not working; anybody can get in here, and the smell in the hallway is foul. We climb the stairs and I'm not sure if I want her in front of me so I can see her at all times, or behind me so I face any possible danger that might be lurking first. In a compromise, I have her by my side so I can both see and protect her at the same time.

When reach her door and I stare at the peeling paint and the huge gap beneath it, silently I thank God this is going to be the last time I stand outside of this apartment. Erin fiddles with the key in the lock - jiggling it backwards and forwards - until we hear the soft click of it opening and step inside. She heads to the kitchen/living room and I follow her, not truly paying attention until she stops so suddenly that I almost crash into her.

"What's wro…" I trail off as she sucks in a huge breath before breaking into sobs and I have no idea what's done this to her but I need to find out - and quickly - because she's scaring me. "Erin?"

She continues to stand there, her feet stock-still as her body hunches over and my heartbeat takes off so fast that I'm pretty sure I'm close to hyperventilating.

"I just…" she manages. "I just…"

She turns at that, burying her face in my henley and the act gives me _just about_ enough reassurance that it's not me who's done something wrong. That I haven't hurt her in some indirect way.

I shush her, which I'm well aware is a contradiction when I've asked her to tell me what's wrong, but the combination of the repeated instruction and my hands combing through her hair seems to calm her enough that the sobs are no longer wracking her body.

"I would have been bringing it back here," Erin chokes, her tears forming a damp patch on the cotton I'm wearing. Wrapping my arms around her, I bend slightly to lay my lips against her hair and I'm confused. I'm about to ask what she means but then I know. _It_. The baby. Not the one safe and snug inside of her now, but the one she lost. The one she lost before she even knew she wanted it.

"This would have been my life," she says, breaking into a whole new round of sobs that seem even worse than the ones before. "I'd have been _her_."

She means Bunny. She'd have been her mom. But then,

"No," I assure her. "You wouldn't have."

"Sure I would," she manages, just about controlling her body enough so that her words trip out haphazardly. "Crappy apartment, the drugs, working in a...where I did."

"Hey," I grip her shoulder with one hand, tilting her chin up so she'll look at me with the other. "You are _not_ your mom."

She shrugs, her eyes flicking downwards again. "I'm worse. At least she never slept with men for money."

Any mention of that period of Erin's life always makes me want to throw up the contents of my stomach - not just because the thought of anyone else touching her ( _or, more accurately, touching her the_ wrong _way_ ) actually feels like a knife to the chest - but also because we both know the reason she did that. What the money was for.

"What if it happens again?" she whispers, so genuinely terrified that the fleeting thought of how grateful I am not to have to respond to her previous comment disappears and is replaced with a huge lump in my throat. Of course I've thought about it. Imagined how it would feel if I had to see her in that pain again; bleeding and pale and broken. Losing _our_ child.

"It won't," is all I manage.

She looks at me like I'm lying, like I'm trying to paper over the truth with nothing but hope, and I guess, in a way, I am. Because it's all I've got I suppose.

"Promise me," Erin breathes with red-rimmed eyes, "that the minute I do something stupid, you'll keep it away from me. Keep it safe."

I'll promise no such thing. "I won't ever have to."

"Promise me," she demands - clearer this time. More resolute.

"Erin-"

"I don't want to be her Jay. I _can't_ be _her_. So just...promise me that this kid will always have at least one parent it can rely on."

I think my mouth has forgotten how to work, because all I want to say is that it will always have _two_ parents because I know she's gonna be the best mom. She's going to love this kid with everything she has and that will always, _always_ be enough. But that's not what she needs to hear, I realise, when I search her eyes. She needs confirmation.

Nodding, I force the words from my lips. "I promise."

Packing doesn't seem quite so appealing after that. Gone is the excitement of the day; instead, there's a blanket of doubt smothering us because yet again, she doesn't think she's good enough. I just hope I can love her enough to convince her.

X

It doesn't take too long for us to unload Erin's stuff from the car and cart it upstairs to my floor. I only allow her to carry the lighter items: clothes and some blankets and cushions she'd wanted to bring, while I bring up everything else which, incidentally, turns out to be nothing more than a waffle iron, some books and dvds, a tv she thinks we should put in the bedroom (not going to argue) and some other stuff in a box. Erin Lindsay travels light. Either that, or most of her stuff is already here.

A strange silence had settled over us after the reluctant promise I made in her living room, but she hasn't cried since, so I'm figuring that's a good thing. She's bending down so she can scoop a stack of dvds from a box when I look across the room at her. There are beams of golden sunlight bathing her in this kind of aura, picking up the highlights in her hair and dancing along her skin, and she looks absolutely beautiful. I don't realise I've said her name until she looks up, all the flecks in her eyes making them look like mini kaleidoscopes.

"Yeah?"

I cross to her, wrapping my arms around her back so I can bring her to a standing position. There's a soft moan of surprised pleasure that sounds in the back of her throat when I kiss her, and I smile against her lips. My fingers trail to her hair, tangling in the soft waves so they can rest against her scalp. Her own come to rest on my arms, right where she can feel my muscles flex beneath them as I move to her hips, down over the neat curve of her ass and round to her thighs so I can lift her body against mine. Wrapping her legs around my waist, she opens her mouth wider and I let my tongue caress hers as I try to breathe, but my oxygen is cut off by her skin pressed against my nose so all I taste is honey and vanilla and _her_.

I carry her carefully - not just because my baby is inside of her, but because she needs me to be gentle with _her_ right now - all the while kissing her lips, her neck, that sensitive patch just below her ear that usually makes her lose her balance a little, until we reach my bed and I can lay her down on the soft sheets.

There's a soft almost-whimpering when I detach my lips from her skin, just for a brief moment so I can lift her shirt over her head. By the time I've tossed it onto the floor somewhere, Erin's craning her neck so she's closer, eyes closed and lips waiting for mine. Something feels like it's burst inside of my chest - like my heart's stuttered and isn't quite beating right, except it _is_ , because it's beating in time with her breaths. Nuzzling her nose with mine, I press my lips against hers before I kiss her eyelids and her temples, along her jawline until I venture south - along her collarbone towards the red lace trim of her bra. Erin in black lingerie is one thing but red is something else.

My fingers reach for the button on her jeans and it unhooks without any protest. I wonder, somewhat idly, how long it'll be before we see the evidence of our child growing inside of her; until her skin starts to pull and stretch, accommodating everything it needs. Her touch, light and yet somehow burning, stirs me and I'm back to peeling off the denim so I get more of her porcelain skin.

By the time I've pressed a kiss against each of her thighs, her breathing has become a little faster and louder, and her hands are reaching blindly to tug off my henley. I help her out, discarding it somewhere close to hers, at which point she's reaching up to join her lips with mine and so I unhook her bra, peeling the lace off of her skin. I'm never going to get enough of this.

I'm careful to be gentle when I touch her there - we've discovered over the past few nights, that she's been incredibly sensitive and I'd die if I ever hurt her. I simply press a kiss against the underside of each breast before my mouth travels downwards and Erin hums her approval into the air between us that's growing ever hotter. Right as my fingers hook under the string of her panties, she stills my hand and opens her eyes enough that I know she knows I'm loving her. That this isn't just sex, because yeah, we have that sometimes, when it's what we both need, but today it isn't. She needs me to love her just as much as she needs to love me too - like she's proving she can do it.

By the time my jeans and boxers are off and she's guiding me inside of her with the softest of touches, I'm pretty sure that moving-in sex might be the best kind there is.

The boxes stay on the floor and I lay in bed with her all afternoon.

X

After that day, things on the self-doubt front start to get a little better. Despite my daily proclamations of love, of reassurance that she's going to be _everything_ to this kid, it's working for Voight that really helps.

She started a week ago, initially answering the phones and making sure there's always hot coffee so that when we come back into the pen from working a case, it's the first thing everyone reaches for. It doesn't even matter that it kinda tastes a little like dirt because she puts so much of the stuff inside the filter - we all drink it without complaint anyway.

Voight has now got her doing a little research online for various cases - a job Erin absolutely thrives on because even though she hasn't actually said as such, it makes her feel like she's _really_ doing something to help. She's struck up this weird relationship with Platt and now when we head into reception each morning, she chats to the woman about anything and everything while I go up to start work. Voight either knows Platt's keeping her talking, or he just doesn't give a crap if she's a little late.

My suspicions regarding Erin being in favour are confirmed when I reach the pen and Ruzek looks up, his face falling a little at the sight of me.

"No Erin?"

"She's with Platt," I reply, shrugging off my jacket. I sit down at my desk, switching on my computer when Olinksy appears from the breakroom.

"Where's Erin?"

"Talking to Platt."

I've barely logged onto the network when Dawson appears from somewhere or other and frowns at my girl's empty desk. "Where's E-"

"-With Platt." I cut in before he can even finish. Damn. If I wasn't ecstatic about the fact they all seem to love her as much as I do, I'd take offence.

When she appears a few minutes later wearing a bright smile and generally looking so perfect that I want to kiss those dimples in front of everyone, they all bid her a "good morning," which is a damn sight more than I got, and even Voight leaves his office to speak to her. I can't not say anything.

"You all like Erin better than me!"

"Damn right," Ruzek nods as if it's the truth written in ancient scripture.

Atwater holds up his mug, piping up, "Cheers to that."

My girl giggles and the sound makes me smile, but I bite the insides of my cheeks to contain it. "Where's your loyalty?"

"Went out the window when she started making sure there's always fresh coffee and cookies."

They're not done there. Now it's Dawson's turn. "She's got a better smile."

 _Don't I know it_.

"Fine," I mutter, shooting a look to Erin but she just smiles again and I can't not return it.

Later, when I'm pouring myself a cup of coffee in the breakroom, she joins me, peeking over her shoulder to see if anyone's looking. They obviously aren't.

"Just so you know," she says softly, her voice vibrating too deliciously for the workplace in my ear. "I like _you_ the best."

Cue the spillage of my coffee but I don't give a shit. I'm so in love with this woman that it actually hurts.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N - Sorry it's been a while. I've had a lot of this chapter written, but by the time I realised how long it was going to end up being, I decided to split it. This is the shorter half, and I wanted to get it out for you so I can hopefully post again in the next few days.**

 **To everyone who took the time to review last chapter, thank you so much :)**

 **Enjoy x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

I'm only just quick enough to turn off my alarm before Erin wakes. I'd forgotten to turn it off last night and we have the luxury of an extra hour in bed this morning: it's her first ultrasound today, and Voight's been generous enough to let me accompany her. As much as I'd like to think he's allowed this out of the kindness of his heart, I think it probably has more to do with the extra hours we've _both_ been putting in. That, and the fact that Erin has been bringing him his favourite pastries every morning for the past two weeks. Turns out Hank Voight _can_ be bought.

I turn back so that I'm facing Erin, my lips curving into a grin when I see the sheets pooling around her stomach. She's starting to show now - an obvious roundness to her midsection which is emphasized even more when she wears a fitted t-shirt. I'm not sure what it is about seeing her this way, but walking beside her makes me hold my head a little taller.

She begins to stir, making that soft groaning noise she always does when she wakes first thing. It's accompanied by a scrunch of her nose and the stretch of her legs before her left eye opens first, peeking at me from under a wave of dark blonde hair. Her lips curve into a smile when she sees me watching her, and I can't help but grin as I press a kiss to them, then her dimples as they break out either side of her face.

"Good morning," I whisper, nuzzling her nose with mine so I can inhale that unique smell of hers.

There's a soft giggle that escapes her lips when my scruff tickles her chin, but her delicate fingers stroke the sides of my face as I lean over her and I decided right here and now that I'll never _ever_ get enough of her.

"Morning," Erin replies, inching towards me so that she can drape a leg over mine a little more easily. Her stomach isn't huge by any standards, but it's certainly become a little trickier for her to lie like she prefers - almost fully on top of my chest. As much as I'm starting to miss the comforting weight on me, the fact that the only reason it's not there is because my child is growing inside of her makes it completely worth it. I pull her body close to hold her, resting my palm on the bare skin beneath the t-shirt of mine she's wearing. I can't wait until her stomach starts stretching those too.

"What do you think it is?" Erin mumbles against my skin, hair tickling a little but I don't care.

"Huh?"

"I want a boy," she elaborates, and I realise she's talking about the sex. "Your mini me."

I feel her smile against my skin and something inside of me feels like it's been filled with air and might burst at any moment.

"Actually," I return, weaving my hands through her hair so I can comb out the tangles. "I was imagining a mini _you_."

"No." She shakes her head.

"Your dimples," I counter. "Those same hazel-green eyes; your lips. A little girl who has me wrapped around her little finger."

"A boy," she says again, somewhat more resolutely this time. And then she lifts her head to look at me. "So I'm not what Bunny was."

"Hey," I tilt her chin with my forefinger. "Boy _or_ girl. It doesn't matter. You'll _never_ be what Bunny was."

Erin only stares at me for a few moments, watching as I watch her. She says nothing more, just lays her head back on my chest and I continue to comb out the tangles in her hair. I whisper an _I love you_ into the strands. She doesn't reply with words. Just nods.

X

For the first time since I met Erin, waiting in the doctor's office doesn't seem like the world is ending. For her though, it's clearly an anxious experience: her leg is bouncing as we sit in the chairs of the waiting room, and she's been gnawing on her lip for the past ten minutes. Gently, I prise it from her teeth with my thumb, and she looks up at me - all wide-eyed and scared. I seal my own lips over hers, soothing the torn skin with my tongue and I feel her relax against me just enough that her leg stops shaking. When I pull away, I notice the doctor heading our way.

"Erin Lindsay?"

My girl looks at me with such vulnerability in her eyes that I realise it's going to take a lot more than the comfort of our mornings spent safely curled up in bed to erase the doubt she feels towards her own ability as a mother. Squeezing her hand in mine, I stand and help her to her feet, and we follow the lady clad in white.

Once we're in the relative comfort of the private room, our sonographer introduces herself as Dr Walsh and I take a seat on the chair beside Erin's bed. She walks us through today's procedure and as much as I'm excited, I'm also nervous as hell - especially as Erin hasn't let go of my hand the entire time.

"This gel is going to feel a little cold," she warns Erin. No shit - judging by the way she jumps as a ton of clear liquid is squeezed onto her stomach. Dr Walsh picks up some implement - something called a transducer, apparently - and as she runs it over Erin's stomach, there's this noise, almost like the ocean, which is then broken up by the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat.

There are no words to describe that sound.

It's almost terrifying: the way something so simple can tug at your body in a way that makes you lose all sense of who or where you are. I know Erin's feeling it too, because there's this look in her eyes replacing the wide-eyed, rabbit-in-headlights expression from earlier when she looks at me. I smile as best I can with this lump in my throat and squeeze her fingers gently. She squeezes back.

"Ooookaaaay," Dr Walsh says in a tone that immediately cuts through my emotion.

"What?" Erin's quick to gabble. "Is there something wrong? What is it? Is it-"

"-Nothing's wrong," the doctor is quick to cut in, and only when I hear those words do I realise how much my heartbeat had sped up in the last ten seconds. She moves the transducer further over Erin's stomach and smiles. "There we are."

She turns the monitor she's looking at towards us, and it's a long shot, but I _think_ I can just about make out the shape of a baby. But it's a little blurry.

"You're having twins."

Is it possible to choke on air? On shock? Because I think I might be about to. I stare at the screen, squinting and checking to see if she's got this right; if there really _are_ two in there.

"W-what?" Erin stutters, and I look back at her. That rabbit-in-headlights expression is back. "Are you sure?"

Dr Walsh laughs and turns the monitor a little further. Her finger pointing at the screen, she shows us baby A, "and that's baby B."

Yep. We really did make two at once. I feel my mouth start to curve up into an involuntary grin, and when I look back at Erin, I realise her own mouth is moving but no sound is coming out.

"Would you like a print out?" Dr Walsh asks, and I answer for us. Erin hasn't said a word, and I'm starting to worry. She's only silent like this when she's panicking; when she's fighting to urge to do or say something. Or run.

A little too roughly for my liking, the sonographer wipes the gel off of Erin's stomach with the paper that had been protecting her jeans, telling her she can pull her shirt down. She does, clearly without fully-registering the words, and just lies on the bed until I'm holding the photograph and Dr Walsh is explaining that she'll see us again in eight weeks, at which point we can find out the sex of each baby if we'd like. She nods blindly, forgetting to thank the woman in white, and so I do it again, lacing my fingers with hers so I've got her.

She says nothing until we reach the car, but once we're seated in the 300, she manages a whisper.

"How am I gonna look after two?" Her expression is so heartbreaking that I don't reply straight away, just kiss her softly until I've thought about the right thing to say. Just as I'm opening my mouth, Erin cuts in. "I couldn't even keep one safe the last time."

"Erin…" I cup her face with my palm so she'll look at me, but I see the tears in her eyes start to spill over.

"How am I gonna be enough for _two_?"

"Because you are," I state. "Because you're you and you're going to love them so much and _I'm_ going to love them so much that they'll never go a day without knowing what they mean to us."

She sniffs and wipes at her eyes clumsily. "I'm scared Jay. I'm scared that I'm so happy it's all gonna get taken away."

Oh.

"You ever thought," I say, offering a kiss to the inside of her wrists as I tug them towards me, "that you deserve to be happy?

Erin doesn't answer that, just stares at her hands. I tug them higher, towards my eyes. "'Cos you do."

There's still no response - just this slight twitch of her mouth she does when she wants to believe me but isn't quite there yet.

"I don't want to screw them up," she says finally. "I don't want to promise myself this fantasy life and then wreck it all."

"So you won't." I know more than anything that this is the truth. "We'll lie in bed every morning like we did today, and you'll get bigger and bigger until you're complaining that you can't see you feet, and I'll laugh and tease you and you'll shove me but then pull me back because you'll miss my hands on you."

She looks up at that; looks right in my eyes.

"And we'll get up in the middle of the night so I can make you all the weird stuff you want to eat, and I'll think it's gross but you'll convince me it isn't so I'll try it too, and I'll wanna throw up because it's so bad, though you'll just shrug and be grateful there's more for you."

Her eyes are still watching me, and there's this tiny smile dancing across her lips now. "What else?" she asks, urging me on. I go back to the movie that's playing in my head - so vivid and clear that it's like real life.

"Summer will be so hot and you'll refuse to sleep with any sheets on, 'cos you'll be radiating heat like some kind of furnace, so I'll buy a fan but it'll end up being really loud and keep us both up so my hands will start wandering. We'll get carried away and end up even hotter than we started and you'll say it's all my fault, but then you'll say you're so happy and it's all so worth it."

She's drinking it all in and I can't help but continue. "Finally, the hot weather will give out and we'll both be grateful that it's cold enough for sweaters again, except you won't be able to zip up your coat by then, so you'll have to start wearing mine. I'll pretend to be mad but I'll always look at you and wonder how I got so lucky, then you'll catch me staring and I won't admit any of that; just tell you I love you and you'll say it back. You'll try to kiss me but your stomach will get in the way, so we'll both just end up laughing and I'll tell you to keep the coat 'cos you look better in it anyway."

I finish, and Erin keeps staring at me, sighs softly and curls her fingers around my hand. "I love you," she whispers, "for telling me all of that. For giving me this," she gestures to her expanding stomach, the car, between us, meaning everything we have and everything we are right now. Everything we're _going to get_.

"And I love you too," I say. "So much."

It's quiet for a few moments and we take it all in; really let the news that we're having _two_ babies sink in. A grin spreads across my face before I can help it.

"My guys must be _really_ good."

At that, she laughs - a real honest, proper laugh that shows off her dimples and makes the flecks of green in her eyes sparkle.

"They are," she nods, leaning in to kiss me. " _Real_ good."

Work can wait a few extra minutes. I just want her here like this: happy and not crippled by the self-doubt I know's going to resurface at various other points in the next six months. And so we stay in the parking lot, kissing like teenagers in the front of the 300 before eventually, my phone beeps signalling a text from Voight, and we pull apart, breathless by this point but Erin's still grinning. I kiss her one more time and then put the car into drive.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N - I really appreciate the reviews guys. Would also be great to hear from those of you who don't always drop a line - let me know what you think so far. Just out of curiosity, I've kinda got hooked on Riverdale, and I'm wondering if any of you watch it too? There doesn't seem to be any way of writing fanfiction for it yet.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy this one. x**

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Let Me Love You

"You bring any of those cookies Erin?" Ruzek asks as we enter the pen, his eyes searching my girl's empty hands, revealing a somewhat disappointed look when he realises she didn't.

"Sorry Adam," she replies with genuine apology. "Didn't get chance last night." I smirk at that, knowing the exact reason there are no home-baked cookies in her hands this morning. Erin catches my expression and cocks an eyebrow as if to question the blatancy of the grin I know I'm wearing, so I just shrug because when she looks like she does (and she wears my t-shirts with only her panties around the apartment) what else am I supposed to do?

"No worries," Ruzek shrugs off, clearly trying not to let the disappointment show. "You were spoiling us anyway."

The cookies he's craving are some sort of daily (or not quite _daily_ , as proven by today's empty-handed arrival) treat that came about during one of Erin's 1am panicked realisations that she doesn't know how to be a _proper_ mom. It's a phrase she uses _way_ too often for my liking, and I hate hearing it flow from her lips like it's an every-day truth, but she uses it all the same. This time, she'd said the words because she figures at some point, our children are going to have a bake sale at school, and unless she practises, she's not going to be able to send anything that isn't store-bought. So we spent several hours making batches of chocolate chip cookies and wiping dough off the kitchen counter and the floor (and each other) until the sun rose just after 4am and my apartment smelled like a bakery and felt like an oven.

The first few batches tasted good, but kind of looked like they'd been made by four-year-olds. Since then, Erin's managed to create these buttery, chocolatey masterpieces that mean we all have to go a few extra rounds at the gym because they're so damn good. The whole thing has created a monster because it turns out that Erin Lindsay is competitive as hell; she's no longer content with being able to just make cookies - she wants to be known as the mom who makes the _best_ ones.

The hell if I'm gonna be the one who stops her.

"Morning Erin," Voight greets gruffly, following it with a nod in my direction. "Halstead."

"Morning Hank," she replies, and I swear our boss gives her an _actual_ smile in return.

"No cookies?"

I look at my girl and she now looks _devastated_ that she hasn't brought Voight some kind of baked goods. I don't get their relationship: it's fucking weird because he's got this over-protective-dad thing going on and as much as I figure it probably has something to do with Nadia, he's never said as such. Erin _definitely_ gets special treatment though, and whether it's her past or the fact she's pregnant, I have no idea, but nobody seems to acknowledge this fact - or even care about it. Like it's a given. I suppose it is, really.

"Huh," Voight grunts in response to her apology, but then, "gotta watch my figure anyway."

If I dared, I'd laugh. Erin does. He doesn't so much as _scowl_ at her. My girl's made him soft.

"Okay, we just caught a case," Dawson announces, heading straight to the board to pin up a picture. Once he's done explaining, we get ready to hit Fuller Park - which means leaving Erin in the pen on her own (the only part of this job I hate besides telling someone that a member of their family has been killed). I'm last to leave, and gently press a hand to her stomach as my lips find hers briefly before heading out. It's a ritual we've had since the day we found out there are two babies inside of her, and nobody - not even Voight - has questioned it.

X

The bust at Fuller Park throws up something we've not experienced before: an animal caught up in all the violence. I'm in the kitchen with Atwater, Ruzek and Dawson guarding the stairs, when we hear the whimpering. At first, we assume it's from a young child: there's a kid's bike out back and a sippy cup on the counter, and so when we've cleared the ground floor, with Ruzek and Dawson still watching the stairs and Atwater keeping tabs on the back door, I go with Voight to check it out.

Voight calls out but there's no reply other than the whimpering - louder now. By the time we've assessed the top floor and determined there are no adults other than the dead body we've got in the living room, we've put two and two together and we know we're looking for a dog of some kind.

We stay quiet, stepping carefully so as not to alarm the animal, peering behind doors and furniture until we get to the kid's bedroom and see a small white and grey lump looking kind of like a half-dead badger. From its cries, it's a young dog - probably only a few months old.

"Shit," Voight mutters, putting away his gun so he can hold out his hands towards the animal. I keep my own in my hands - if the dog suddenly becomes spooked and goes for him, there's pretty much no other choice.

The thing is scared although from what we can tell, not hurt. It is though, pretty thin-looking and we're going to have to get animal welfare here. Within a minute or two, he's holding the animal in his arms with that jaw muscle of his ticking.

"I'll put in a call," I tell the boss, and head downstairs, giving the others a head's up.

"Talked to the neighbour," Ruzek says. "They say nobody's been living here for at least a week. Family packed up their car and left around dinner time one night."

"The neighbour know anything about a dog?"

"They didn't mention it," he replies. "Must've heard the shots and hidden."

"Yeah," I agree, looking up the number I need and hitting dial.

It turns out that the pets of America are getting kind of a shitty deal. I explain the situation to the woman on the other end of the phone line, who is in no hurry to send someone over if the dog is no longer in immediate danger. I point out that it's frightened and obviously hungry - oh, and its owner is either dead or seemingly not coming back any time soon - but apparently, there are other emergencies that have to be dealt with first. We're instructed to take the dog back to the precinct, where someone will come and collect it at some point during the day. I hang up and relay all of this to Voight, who tightens his jaw, says nothing for about a minute, then instructs me to call Erin and tell her to pick up some Pedigree for when we get back.

It's probably a good thing that Platt isn't on the front desk when we get back because I'm almost certain she wouldn't be letting this dog past her. I'm still holding the thing because Voight insisted on driving and hasn't made any attempt to take it from my arms since we left his car, and without a leash, there's every chance we'd lose it.

We buzz our way up to the pen without incident, and before I'm even up the stairs, Erin is running her hand gently over the dog's head and back, speaking so softly I almost don't hear her. There's this look in her eyes as she's talking, and I figure I might be in trouble here because I've seen this kind of look before - just not in _her_ eyes. This is the _we could keep it_ look. And we absolutely can _not_ keep this dog.

"Erin," I warn gently but either she doesn't hear me or she's choosing to ignore the tone of my voice while she's cooing over how handsome the animal is.

"I got you some food little guy," she whispers, taking the dog from my arms. "Come on."

I watch as she sits at her desk, settling the thing on her knee so it can reach the small plastic bowl filled with dry biscuits on her desk. I watch warily - I'm a little uncomfortable about the proximity of her stomach to a thing that has teeth sharper than some kitchen knives - but it turns out my worry is unfounded because despite that food being an inch in front of the dog's face, it turns first in Erin's lap, pressing its nose against her midsection gently. The action renders her speechless and I know the argument we're about to have over where this dog stays tonight has just swung more in her favour.

The rest of the morning passes as normal, just with the addition of a hungry dog, who's already gotten through four bowls of food and wrapped Erin around it's little finger. Or, not finger...but _paw_. The dog, for his part, also seems to love my girl just as much as everyone else does, and insists on following her when she gets up from her desk - which, as a result of being pregnant and needing the bathroom, is pretty often.

There's no still visit from animal welfare by mid-afternoon, by which point Erin has started shooting me longing glances, and not the ones she uses when she wants something decidedly less... _innocent_.

"You're just so handsome," she coos again, ruffling the dog's ears as it eats probably-meal number seventy-six of the day. "You should have a handsome name."

Oh _hell_ no. "Erin," I warn, looking up from the file I'm reading.

"What do you think?" she asks the animal, pointedly ignoring me.

"Do _not_ name that dog."

"You're so taking it home tonight," Atwater laughs, taking a large gulp of his coffee as we watch Erin fawn over the soft fur. She's done some research and she thinks it's a husky - which I agree with, but I don't really want to admit it because she'll use the angle of how it'll make the perfect protection when I'm not around. I can't argue when it comes to her safety and she knows this. Knows she won't lose.

"What do you think about Duke?" Erin asks, to nobody but the dog. Already, they're teaming up against me I figure, as the thing turns in her lap, resting its nose against her stomach with a wag of its tail. "Then Duke it is," she smiles, satisfied.

I reach for my coffee and find the mug empty, so head to the breakroom where there should be a fresh pot. Except, when I get there, I discover that there isn't because Erin has been too busy looking after the ball of fluff in her lap. I huff and reach for a filter and the ground stuff, refilling our supply.

"Jay,"

I look up and find my girl resting against the counter, Duke by her feet. The damn animal hasn't left her side since we brought it back from Fuller Park.

"What?" I question, like I don't already know.

"Call animal welfare; tell them we can look after him."

"We can't. We're here all day and my apartment isn't big enough for a fully-grown husky."

"We can bring him with us. It's not like I leave the building until the end of shift anyway."

"Voight won't agree."

Now I'm just prolonging the inevitable. If Erin asked to bring our babies to work once they're born, I'm pretty sure he'd say yes: man is powerless to those dimples. Guess that makes two of us.

"I could ask him. See what he says? Besides, he's already attached," she continues, nodding to her feet. "Look."

I sigh and silently resign myself to the fact that on our way home tonight, we're going to have to swing by the pet store for food and a leash and a chew toy. I suppose it's just a snapshot of what parenting is going to be like: I'm never going to win another argument again. Erin, knowing she's won, just grins, presses a quick kiss against my lips and practically hops out of the breakroom. Naturally, the dog follows.

X

I trudge back down the hallway, Duke tucked under my arm after returning from my fourth trip downstairs in the last two hours, so he doesn't pee in my apartment. I've given up trying to sleep, and so I'm alternating late-night walks around the communal grassed area behind my building with researching baby names. I've also given up getting changed. It's hot as hell tonight, and sweatpants will just have to cut it. It's not like anyone else is stupid enough to have agreed to look after a dog that isn't yet toilet-trained, and so I'm unlikely to meet any fellow dog-walkers outside.

I reach the bedroom and find Erin with no more names on the list than we started with. We started with zero.

"Damn," she says, looking up from her position in bed. "They should make a calendar with you shirtless holding that dog," she finishes, inflating my ego about a thousand percent. Maybe having Duke is going to work in my favour after all.

"Yeah?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and unable to help the smirk that crosses my lips.

"Totally." I set Duke on the floor and bend to kiss my girl. "It's working for me."

She gets another kiss before I head to my side of the bed, settling on top of the sheets carefully so I don't jostle her. There are several open books and I don't want to ruin whatever order she's got them in. Not that there appears to be one.

"Any ideas?" I ask, and she just shakes her head.

"We should just wait until they're here."

At this point, I don't know if this is another one of those actions she takes to prevent herself from getting hurt if something goes wrong, or whether she genuinely doesn't want to pick out names yet.

"Okay," I concede, kissing her temple. She hums softly, eyes closing to tiredness. There's been no cookie-baking tonight either, just a tired attempt at spaghetti bolognese that we both ate without complaint because we were beyond starving, and several trips to the bathroom (for the dog _and_ Erin).

I take the books and close them, removing the laptop from her knees too. There's a kind of oblong-shaped patch of red where the heat from the computer has burned her skin a little, and so I rub gently, watching as the colour fades slowly back to creamy-olive - a hint of her summer tan showing. It gives me an idea.

"You like the beach?" I ask.

"Why?"

"I was thinking maybe we could go this weekend."

She shuffles against the pillows so she can angle her body towards me. "I've never been before."

 _How did I not know this?_ Keeping my voice steady so as not to betray the sudden rush of anger I feel at myself for not realising and taking her sooner, and at her parents for never giving her the childhood right to build sandcastles and jump the waves, I squeeze her knee gently. "Then we'll go this weekend."

Erin tilts her chin towards me, eyes closed ready for my lips against hers. "Thank you."

I really wish she wouldn't thank me for things like this. For giving her what she deserves. Telling her this will do no good though, and so I just nod against her, tucking the wave of hair that's fallen in front of her face back behind her ear. I'm about to suggest we at least try and go to sleep but then the dog lets out a whimper right on cue, and this time it's Erin who makes to get up.

"You wanna be up here buddy?" she asks, reaching down to scoop him up.

"No," I warn. "He is _not_ sharing our bed."

"But he's sad," she whispers, putting this look in her eyes that already has me caving. I'm _beyond_ whipped. It's not even funny.

I just turn over because there isn't even any point in putting up a fight, and I know - even as I turn out the lamp - that there's a smirk written across her lips. Those dimples'll be out too.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N- Guys I'm so sorry this has taken so long! Work has been CRAZY! Anyway, I finally managed to finish this tonight (I'm in England, so it's nearly 8pm here) and wanted to get it posted asap.**

 **Huge thanks to all of you who have reviewed. Hope you're still sticking around! Enjoy x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

Erin isn't sleeping. Of course, that means _I'm_ not sleeping and if we're both awake, the dog seems to think it must be play time, and proceeds incessantly to fling a squeaky toy bone around the apartment. I'm solving cases on around three hours of shut-eye, and when I told Platt this (after she'd asked why I continually look like death) she'd laughed and told me I'm not going to get any more sleep once these babies arrive. I figure at least when they actually get here, I'll be able to help in some way. Right now, I'm powerless because I can't make the air any less humid; can't make Erin's back any less sore; can't stop the constant tidal wave of hormones wreaking havoc with her so that she's not sure whether she's happy or sad or angry or even _human_ anymore.

The thing is, she hasn't complained once. Not about the way her feet are swollen; the way literally _nothing fits_ : not her clothes, not mine; the way her skin feels like it's burning because she's that hot. But I know she's uncomfortable. The look on her face every time she gets up, sits down, leans against the counter gives her away, and we've got another two months to go yet - more than that even - and I'm not sure how much more her body is going to take. I can't tell her any of this though, so I'm having to make do with rubbing her feet each night after dinner and sleeping without any sheets on. The one thing she won't allow in all of this, is for me not to sleep with my arms around her - no matter how hot she gets.

Duke scrabbles against the mattress and I knock his paws off before his nails tear the foam. Sighing inwardly, I sit up, somehow managing to wrench my arm out from under Erin's body without waking her before finding the red leash that should be hanging by the front door but isn't.

"C'mon boy," I whisper, clipping the metal onto Duke's collar once I've finally found it. He makes a half-hearted indication that he'd rather Erin take him downstairs, but seems to realise _that_ isn't happening, and he'll have to make do with me: everyone's second choice.

By the time we're back, the living room lamp is on, and I find Erin half-sitting, half-lying on the couch looking as tired as I feel.

"Hey," I greet softly, hanging up the dog's leash next to our jackets -where it's _supposed_ to live - after locking the door.

"Hey," her smile is genuine but so are the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"You couldn't sleep?"

There's this look she gives me, like it's obvious. "Not when you're not here."

I wonder if she'll ever get over that. If there'll ever be a time when there isn't a part of her - however small - that thinks I might not come back. I press a kiss against her forehead, then lift the t-shirt she's wearing to repeat the same gesture on her stomach. "I'm here now; you should be in bed."

I settle on the floor beside her and she reaches her hand to weave it through my hair, her fingertips dancing along my scalp until I'm almost positive I'm going to fall asleep right here on the floor. Forcing my eyelids up, I offer a smile to Erin, only to find her own eyes closed.

"Hey," I whisper, "Let me get you into bed."

At that, she cracks a half-smirk that makes me chuckle, but it gives me an idea. She lets me help her up, finally opening her eyes so she can navigate back to the bedroom, where she all but trips tiredly onto the mattress. I settle above her, keeping my weight on my forearms, and before her eyes are open wide enough to question my proximity, my lips are against hers and she's making soft - almost inaudible - moans in the back of her throat. Her fingers, though lazy and unhurried, travel around to the back of my neck which breaks out in goosebumps despite the ridiculous heat of this apartment. There's a sheen of sweat coating Erin's skin, and I lift the material of her ( _my_ ) shirt upwards, revealing the swell of her stomach and it just gives me pause for a moment because yeah, she's always been gorgeous, but like this? Soft and curves and carrying my children? There aren't any words in this language to describe what I feel when I look at her now.

"Jay," she half whines, urging me to get on with it, and I feel a chuckle rumble low in my chest. The shirt ends up somewhere on the floor - as do her flimsy excuse for panties - so that nothing separate us but my bottoms; they can join her stuff too.

We haven't done this in a while - at least, not since the summer became oppressively hot - and it's obvious that Erin needs some sort of relief because her hips are rising and I haven't even touched her yet. When I do - drawing a long, slow line with my tongue all the way from her entrance to the top of her clit - the resulting moan she lets out has me grappling for self-control. I repeat my action again, eliciting the same response, and I decide to do it again and again to see how long it is before she comes undone.

Turns out, not long at all.

On my fifth stroke upwards, her entire body stiffens and she cries out so loud that I worry I've hurt her. The expression written across her face however, says otherwise, and so I give myself a silent congratulatory fist bump, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

We're not done there.

I wait for her to open her eyes so I know she's ready, and when she does, I line myself up with her entrance, pushing forward so that my entire length is surrounded by her walls. She's so hot and tight and it's been too long since I was here like this; I'm not sure I'm going to be able to last.

"Move," Erin instructs - tone just bossy enough to remind me that she's in charge. She's always in charge. Always going to be.

I won't come 'til she does.

I set a pace that I don't think will hurt the babies, risk any kind of damage to Erin either, but it's not enough and she actually kind of growls when she tries to roll us over and realises she can't. I take the hint and speed up, feeling the familiar burn of trying to hold out fire through the muscles in my back, arms, up my shoulders and into my neck.

"More," she grits out in a sort-of strangled voice that doesn't sound like hers, except it is, and so is the sweat that's soaking my sheets. It's mine too of course, salty and stinging my skin.

Somehow, I manage a rhythm that's even faster, even though my muscles are screaming in agony and I'm pretty sure I can't breathe.

Erin breaks like a dam, screaming her release so loud that somewhere in the cloudy haze of my own undoing, I think I hear Duke's worried whine. She's soaked in sweat when I look at her. So am I.

Too exhausted to care, I manage to flop beside her, in an attempt to catch my breath, and when I turn my head to look at Erin, I realise she's already out.

Best damn reaction to sex I've ever gotten.

I grin to nobody in particular, and position myself carefully so I don't jostle and wake her. I'll clean the sheets in the morning.

X

It turns out that hot, hard sex is the key to sleep. We spend the next few weeks _really_ testing out the strength of my bedframe - which is definitely enough to warrant the price tag the furniture store had slapped on it.

Mornings are a struggle, especially now that the hot weather - and the brightness that comes with it - has given way to a cool wind and frosty sidewalks. Trying to coax Erin out of bed has become quite the challenge: coffee isn't worth shit as a bribe because she won't drink it in case the caffeine damages the babies in any way, but despite my constant reminders that she could take her maternity leave at any time, she refuses. It seems to be this stubbornness that gets her out from under those sheets.

We've really got to get into a better routine because this morning, we were late. I know Voight doesn't appreciate tardiness, and so I blamed it on my oversleeping, when really the reason we didn't make it to the pen on time was Erin being unable to reach her boots to zip them up. Ever independent, she actually _batted_ my hands away when I tried to help her, so I spent the following five minutes watching her try and twist enough to reach the zipper. Inevitably, I had to do it for her and she seems to have been pissed at me ever since, despite the grateful twitch of her lips when I covered for her.

"Okay, we caught a case," Voight announces, holding a file in his left hand. We stand to watch him display the photographs on the board, and after a while, Erin manages to rise from her chair too. It's something she's adopted because we all do it, even though I've told her to rest. "Erin, sit down," Voight instructs gruffly, appraising the huge stretch of her stomach. I'm not actually sure she can get any bigger; it kind of looks like she's got a giant beach ball stuffed underneath her shirt (not that I'd _ever_ tell her that).

Of course, she doesn't comply - just returns an 'I'm fine' at him. There's a tiny bark from Duke beneath her desk, like he doesn't believe her, and it actually makes me smile. She just narrows her eyes at me and I turn my attention back to our boss, who's waving her comment away.

"Just don't give birth on my floor."

There's another small twitch of her lips in response, but she says nothing, and listens for the rest of the briefing. I don't listen though - not closely enough anyway - because I'm watching the way she steadies herself against the desk, rocking this way and that, clearly trying to get comfortable. There's a look written across her face - not of pain, but she's clearly uncomfortable - and I make my way slowly and quietly so I'm standing directly behind her.

Erin senses I'm there: she must do because she stiffens in an act of defiance against her own body, but I ignore her stubbornness now and press my left hand at the bottom of her back - harder than I would normally, but knowing she needs the pressure. My right goes to her front, across her abdomen so that I'm effectively holding her stomach and as much as I know she wants to be able to stand on her own, the appreciative sigh she makes just loud enough that only we hear it tells me she's grateful. As soon as I feel her body relax a little, I exhale into her hair and concentrate on Voight again, managing to pick up key words to determine that we're looking for a small gang trying to shift stolen firearms in the south side of the city.

By the time briefing is over, Erin is leaning almost all of her weight on me and I'm growing increasingly worried about leaving her here.

"I'm fine," she whispers dismissing me before I've even had the chance to voice this concern. Pulling away with effort, she makes her way back to her own chair, by which Duke is waiting with the kind of expression I figure must match my own. What is it they say about dogs resembling their owners? " _Really_ ," she stresses with a raised eyebrow as if knowing I wouldn't be convinced the first time.

I sigh and press my lips against her forehead. "Okay. You'll call me if -"

"-I'll call you," she cuts in as always. "No go do your job."

Erin lets me kiss her one last time, a hand on her stomach as always, before I make my way to get my vest on with the rest of the team. Duke rests by her feet dutifully and I find myself actually grateful she made me bring the damn thing home.

Figures. She's always right.

X

There's no more warm weather. It's a welcome blessing for Erin - and me - to be able to sleep under sheets again without having to intersperse naps with sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor for some relief against the heat.

Thanksgiving comes and goes. Will joins us with his girlfriend, and even though Erin insists on helping cook, when it comes to it, she's actually too tired to do anything other than half-sit, half-lay on the couch with a look of utter resignation. Even Duke has given up pestering her for walks, and continually nudges the back of my knees with his nose instead.

It's the week after, when we've had several disagreements about how she should stay at home and rest rather than come to work, that it happens. It's been somewhat of a slower week in the pen and we're all catching up on paperwork - Voight included - with fresh cups of coffee and a plate of Erin's cookies (because as if to prove that she _can_ in fact still work just like everyone else, she'd stayed up until midnight baking) when Platt buzzes up, and ascends the stairs with a woman in tow that I recognise from my time before. Before Erin was safe. Before she was _mine_.

There's an awkward atmosphere where, for the first time I can ever remember, Platt doesn't seem to know quite what to say. I watch Erin eye her mom apprehensively, crossing her arms subconsciously (or consciously, I'm not entirely sure) across her stomach.

"What're you doing here mom?"

"You're pregnant!" Bunny exclaims, making to rush towards her daughter. I watch as Erin steps back, in turn, stepping closer to me. I close the distance between us faster than I realise I can move, at which point Platt seems to excuse herself.

There's a flurry of chairs scraping, signalling the rest of the group's departure to the break room or bathroom or wherever the hell they're looking to hide to avoid what is no doubt going to be an awkward situation.

"You're huge!" Bunny continues on the charm offensive and I reach to entwine my fingers with Erin's. I realise hers are shaking and so I squeeze a little, running my thumb over her skin. "How many you got in there?"

Erin doesn't answer, just repeats her question from earlier, "What're you doing here?"

"What? I couldn't come and see my daughter? I haven't heard from you in so long and I was worried."

At that, my girl scoffs, but I'm busy watching her body because she's still standing, and usually by now she's shifting herself so that her hips and back aren't aching quite so much. Not today though. Today, she's like a statue, albeit a trembling one. "It's taken you a long time to be worried."

"Erin, baby," she responds, stepping forwards again, which results in Erin taking another step away, inching in a little behind me this time. I want to grin with pride that she trusts me enough to protect her and our children. I don't though, just keep her hand in mine and squeeze again. "It took me so long to find you."

"You've found me," she deadpans. "We both know that's not just what you came for. So what do you want?"

Bunny sighs. "I didn't want to do this here, but seeing as you're being difficult, I'm in a bit of a jam with the club. Financially."

And there it is. The ulterior motive. I don't know how I manage to bite my tongue enough not to say everything I'm screaming in my head, but this is Erin's mom, and if at any point in the future, she decides she wants Bunny in her life, I don't want her to be influenced by my feelings.

"I don't have any money," Erin says.

"Yeah right." It's Bunny's turn to scoff. "You're working for the P.D; I think you're good for it."

"I'm not."

"What about you?" she nods at me. "You're the dad right?" she looks from me to Erin's stomach, then back at my face again. I shift my weight from one foot to both. "You must have a decent bank account. My girl's not stupid."

"Get out," Erin spits, letting go of my hand so she can move forward again, arms crossed over her stomach.

"Erin, look -"

"- I think you heard her," a voice - _Voight's voice_ \- cuts in. I turn my head and see him standing in the doorway, arms folded like this is an everyday occurrence. He sets his jaw - shifting the muscles there ever-so-slightly in a display of calm authority.

"This doesn't concern you," Bunny dismisses, turning her attention back to Erin, but our boss isn't done.

"This is my unit," he replies, voice gravelly. "My pen. My team." He's in the middle of the room now. "It concerns me. And you're done here."

She looks between us all: Erin, Voight, me. Then narrows her eyes and spews venom. "What was it you used to say to me? I was never a _proper_ mom. What makes you so self-righteous that you think you're gonna be any different?"

"Get out." The words spill out as though my mouth refuses to stay closed, to swallow them back down.

When Bunny finally leaves, I turn to my girl, who's blinking so fast I think her eyes are going to break.

"Hey," I say gently, touching her arm. She doesn't look at me or Voight, just moves so her arm is no longer under my fingers, and heads towards the locker room in a display that, if it were under different circumstances, might be comical: she literally cannot move _anywhere_ fast. It's not comical.

I stay where I am. Duke follows her.

A few moments pass in which Voight and I look at each other without saying anything. It's some sort of unspoken agreement that we don't mention this again, but that I go to the locker room and take as long as I...she... _we_ need. No questions.

I nod at him and he returns to his office.

I find Erin resting against a set of lockers, eyes closed, breathing through her mouth like she was taught in the sole parenting/birthing class we went to before she deemed it condescending and judgemental and made us leave. A small hint of a smile crosses my lips as I remember feeling so glad she'd made the decision that we'd be okay figuring it out ourselves.

I decide against saying anything and instead wrap myself around her - a task easier said than done when our babies seem intent on stretching her body to put maximum space between us.

"I'm okay," she chokes out, a statement which is so unbelievably far from the truth because no, she's not.

"I know," I reply - because it's what she needs to hear. She's still stiff in my arms, holding herself so as not to betray the lie of her words. I'm almost certain her eyes are still closed.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, finally sagging against me so quickly that _almost_ too late, I realise I'm holding her up.

"For what?"

"Bunny. Coming from where I do," she shrugs. "Involving you in this kind of life -"

"Hey-" My voice is harsh. Nearly _too_ harsh for this. " _You_ never involved _me_ in anything." I pull back to look at her and as I thought, her eyes are still closed. Only now they're betraying her tears. "And you're not her ya know?"

At that, Erin finally looks at me. There's so much shame clouding her vision that it makes me want to punch the wall. I don't.

I just wipe away her tears and offer my lips to the salty trails they've left. "You are _not_ your mom."

"I could be. I could so easily turn out like her. Already kinda have." Erin shrugs again like it's nothing.

I can't lie. Can't make excuses for her life _before_ , because yeah, she made some pretty shitty choices. But she hasn't done that since. "You won't turn out like her," I urge, tilting her chin with my hand. Sealing my lips over hers, I manage to hold her up with my centre while I use my hands to rest against her stomach. "Not when we've got these two."

Finally, she rests her own hand on top of mine, and relief floods my veins when she interlinks our fingers with a sigh.

"Don't let me be like her Jay."

I'm not replying to that. I don't need to. Instead, I just plant my lips back on hers.

X

I hear the bathroom door open and turn my head to see Erin's stomach enter the hallway before the rest of her.

"C'm here," I say, shifting on the couch to make room. "I wanna show you something."

"Yeah?" she questions in that raspy voice I love so much.

"Yeah." I scroll back up on the webpage and set the laptop of the floor while she maneuvers herself between my legs with a few grunts of effort. Once she's settled and I've woven her hair away from her face, I lift the laptop back up for her to look at.

"What's this?"

"A house."

"I see that," she says, staring at the screen. "Why are you showing it to me?"

"Thought we could take a look, this weekend."

"A house?"

"We can't stay here with two children and a dog Erin. We've got cribs to buy. That's cribs plural. 'Cause in case you forgot, I put _two_ babies in there."

" _You_ put two babies in there?" she asks incredulously, "Like I had nothing to do with it?"

I grin and she rolls her eyes. This woman makes me so happy it's unreal. "What I mean is, we need three bedrooms and here we've only got one."

"You know I'd live anywhere with you right?" she asks, turning into me as much as she can.

"Even on the street?" I raise an eyebrow, but she's serious as she traces my jawline.

" _Anywhere_."

"Then I'll book us an appointment for Saturday. No family of mine is living on the street."

"Family," she smiles. "Us and our boys."

It's the first time she's mentioned the sex of the babies since we had the opportunity to find out at the doctor's office. I grin.

"Us and our girls. Me and _all my girls_."

"We'll see," she hums, craning her neck so I can kiss her.

"Another month and a bit. Then we get to see whether they won the gene lottery or whether they got everything from me."

Erin rolls her eyes again. "I hope they got everything from you."

We lie for a few minutes - the best kind of end to a day that hadn't started off so good - before I notice Erin's breathing start to even out. We move before I have to wake her, settling into bed so I can hold her until she falls asleep fully, after which I can tidy the kitchen and take Duke downstairs before bed.

When I get back, she's waiting by the front door, chewing her fingernails and I know why. I hang up the dog's leash, pull off my jacket and wrap my arms around her.

"Erin, I'll always, _always_ come back to you."

She sniffs and I pull her closer, if it's even possible.

"And not just because of these two," I trail a hand to her stomach, "but because I love you. Because I need you. So whatever your mom has made you think, whatever doubts she's put into your mind, get rid of 'em. 'Cause I'm not going anywhere."

"God I love you," she breathes, half-choking on a sob that escapes her mouth at the same time.

"Bed." I instruct. "Both of us."

I get a shy grin, reciprocate it and let her lead us down the hallway. Duke dutifully follows.

X

By Saturday, things have mostly returned to normal. Nobody on the intelligence team mentions Bunny's visit, and even though Erin insists on accompanying me for Duke's nightly walk outside of my building, for the most part, she's calm.

We pull up outside of the house and it looks exactly like it did online. The street is tree-lined and I can imagine our kids trick-or-treating from house to house, running back to Erin and me with bags of candy we let them eat but know we shouldn't. There's a set of steps leading up to a big red door that we can hang a wreath on at Christmas, and a driveway we can park the 300 in.

"What do you think?" I ask Erin.

"It's beautiful."

The realtor greets us with an enthusiastic smile and reaches a hand towards Erin's stomach, which she dodges. It's her hands or mine on there - nobody else's.

Slightly awkward introductions over, we're led inside to a large hallway with hardwood floors and a staircase which curves to the left.

We move through the downstairs floor, with the realtor pointing out the fireplace and the moldings, the kitchen with its island counter and integrated appliances. By the time we're in the master bedroom upstairs, I've been watching Erin's reactions for the past fifteen minutes, and they're not the reactions of someone who's in love with a house.

Still, we carry on to the nursery and master bathroom until we've seen everything and are being led out to the backyard which definitely has enough room for those babies to practise pitching when they're old enough. I tell Erin as such and she smiles and nods, but none of her responses are "We'll take it."

"If you have any further questions," the realtor says, offering me her card, "feel free to call. Our office hours are nine until six, Monday to Saturday."

I take the card, thank her, and guide Erin back to the car. We say nothing until we get back to the apartment.

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she closes the door behind us, Duke wagging his tail in greeting.

"What is it?" I ask as she closes her eyes.

"I just…" she opens her eyes again to look at me. "I feel safe here. In this apartment. First place I ever did."

Well shit. "You didn't feel safe at that house?"

I watch as her fingers toy with the hem of her sweater. "Not that I felt _unsafe_ , just...I'm not sure I'm ready for this place not to be my home anymore."

"Then we'll stay," I decide. "As long as you want."

"Really? Even after I said I'd live anywhere with you?"

"You think I don't feel the same? _Really_. We just...gotta make sure we buy space-saving cribs."

Just like that, I get the dimples.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N - Here it is - the chapter most of you have been asking for :) We get babies :) This is almost exactly how I imagine Jay would be if Erin were pregnant, and it was so fun to write. To be honest, the chapter kind of just wrote itself yesterday.**

 **Anyway, it's pretty long (the longest one I've done I think) so I'd really appreciate your reviews as this is the penultimate chapter. Figured 20 would be a good place to stop.**

 **Enjoy x**

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Let Me Love You

"Just sit in the seat would you?" I urge, rather than ask Erin, wincing as she shuffles towards the trunk of the 300 with a bag that is way too heavy for her to be carrying. The woman seems to be intent on giving me a heart attack before Christmas Day.

"I wanted to help," she huffs, continuing her one-woman mission to prove a point. Sometimes I can't believe we've actually made it to this point without her giving birth already: even though the babies aren't due for another few weeks, the sight of Erin's stomach resting _way_ lower than it has been is now a constant source of worry, as opposed to the excitement that it had elicited before.

"Yeah, well carrying two babies is help enough. Get in the car."

She huffs once more, mumbling something unintelligible before _finally_ complying with my instruction as I load the last bag into the trunk.

I'm still sceptical about spending Christmas at the cabin in Wisconsin - it's far too far from a hospital for my liking - but I'm powerless to say no to my girl, and so we're starting out on our road trip before any more snow falls and we're forced to spend the big day in Chicago.

" _What is it?" I question Erin, tracing circles along her side and towards her stomach. She narrows her eyes at me and I simply widen mine. "What? You don't think I can tell if there's something wrong by now?" I press a kiss to her forehead and pull back to find her eyes closed. "You've been tense for days."_

 _Sighing out a long breath, she peeks up at me out of one green eye. "Christmas."_

" _What about it?"_

 _There's another sigh and she lifts her other eyelid. "I don't wanna…" she trails off, shaking her head until I frame her face with my hands._

" _You don't wanna what?"_

" _Spend it here," she replies quickly, like telling the truth will somehow upset me. Make me love her less, or something else equally as ridiculous. "Last year…"_

 _At that, her voice cracks a little and I see her eyes grow watery, kiss her til she melts against me and I've gathered myself enough to speak. "You wanna go to Wisconsin?" I sound out of breath. It's not from the kiss._

 _Erin nods against me and exhales. "Thank you."_

 _My stomach clenches in response because I really,_ really _wish she wouldn't do that: say thank you for something that should be a given. She tilts my chin with her forefinger so she can seal her lips over mine, and like that, her whole body relaxes. I feel her stomach press against mine, notice the gentle movements of one - or both - of our babies inside of her, like they're reminding us that_ they're _here;_ they're _not going anywhere._

I close the trunk, take one last look at my building, then the sky, and pray to God we get to the cabin before the heavens open and our route is inevitably blocked. Duke barks his excitement from the back seat as I join Erin in the front, and she giggles, lacing her fingers with mine over the gear shift and hums happily. My eyes flicker to her stomach, stretched and full, resting atop of her jeans low. So low.

"You okay?" I ask.

I get an eye roll and a mildly-clipped "I'm fine," but her dimples are on display and I know the annoyance is for show.

"C'mon; you promised me car snacks at the first gas station."

I smile and step on the gas. "No Twizzlers this time."

Twizzlers give her heartburn. We found that out the hard way one night after she'd devoured three packets and I spent the entire time we should have been sleeping rubbing her back while she moaned that they should put warnings on the packets.

Word of warning: _never_ tell Erin Lindsay she's not supposed to eat so much. It'll earn you an hour of silent treatment.

I catch another eyeroll but her fingers are still entwined with mine. "No Twizzlers."

X

We stop only once more after the gas station so that Duke can stretch his legs and sniff what feels like a thousand fence posts before he finally pees, and Erin can stand up so I can massage her back in what is probably the worst backrub in history, but she still kisses me afterwards anyway, like my hands have been any good whatsoever in helping relieve the pressure she's feeling in her sacrum.

By the time we reach the cabin, the light is waning but the snow has held off enough that we've made it without any trouble. I know the drive has tired Erin out - demonstrated by the way she's leaning against the car door, holding onto Duke's leash as I forgo getting the bags from the trunk so I can open the door and let her inside instead. I'd carry her if I thought she'd let me, but she won't and so I watch as she shuffles in her snow boots towards where I'm holding the door open for her, ready to take the dog's leash from her grasp so he can wander around the yard as I bring in the bags.

I eye her warily as she climbs the stairs - the action rendering her a little breathless but before I can check in on her, she lifts her eyebrows and smiles an "I'm fine,".

"Will you just lay down?" I all but plead.

"I'll put the kettle on," she replies so that she doesn't have to explicitly say _no_. We've taken to drinking tea now when we're not at work because of the caffeine difference, and I can't say I'm enjoying it, but everytime I look at my girl, the trade off seems an irrelevantly small price to pay for another month without coffee.

No point in arguing, but Erin backs up her statement, "I need to stretch my legs."

I run my fingers down her arm until she's too far away for me to touch, but she turns her head towards me as she walks further into the cabin, her entire body bathed in the last remnants of golden winter sunlight and she looks so much like an angel that I don't move, transfixed by the way the light catches the waves of her hair, the green of her eyes, the swell of her stomach where she's keeping our children safe and snug from the cold.

I love her so much it actually hurts.

She rounds the corner towards the kitchen and I'm still staring long after she's gone until Duke lets out a small whine, as if reminding me of the job I've got to do, and so I sigh with what I know is a goofy smile, turning back towards the car after I've unhooked him from the confines of his leash. He scampers around the yard, marking his territory as I unload the bags and set them inside of the cabin's door.

A small part of me wonders - as I'm calling the dog back to come inside - whether we'll ever make a life here, safe by the lake and the trees, away from all of the dangers of Chicago with its bad memories and seeming willingness to steal parts of our happy bubble until there are too many holes for Erin to be protected any more. I'd rather make her a whole new bubble than try and do a patch-up job.

Duke comes obediently, wagging his tail and I close the door behind us, rubbing my hands together to warm them before I head back outside to gather enough logs for the fire. It's far too cold for Erin to take her coat off, and I don't want the muscles in her back to spasm. They do that, periodically, when the heating isn't turned up high enough that she's comfortable to walk around the apartment or the pen in only a t-shirt. Try telling the district that they need to spend more money on heating their buildings so my girl can be comfortable though.

I find her in the kitchen, hands cradling her mug, and it's the bare fourth finger on her left hand that catches my eye. The black box packed inside of my bag feels like it's screaming its presence, but I ignore it, crossing the room to where Erin leans against the counter, lifting each of her legs in turn. I whisper a kiss against her lips and she hands me my mug with a single raised eyebrow,

"Drink it before you light the fire."

My eyes widen at just how well she knows me, and her left eyebrow raises to the height of her right. "A few minutes of being cold isn't going to kill me, and you need a rest."

She moves to kiss my neck and shoulders, setting her mug down on the counter so she can work the tension out with her fingertips. I let out a low grunt of satisfaction and feel her smile against my skin as her lips follow her fingers along my hairline, the steady breaths she lets out through her nose coaxing goosebumps beneath her.

"That feels good," I admit, closing my eyes as her hands work either side of my spine, her cheek resting at my shoulderblades. I only turn when I feel one of the babies kick pretty violently against her - and in turn - against me, soothing her stretched skin back and forwards with my hands.

"Can't get a minute's peace," she smiles like it's nothing, but I see how unbelievably tired she is and it's enough to have me finishing my tea in a series of unattractive gulps so I can build the fire and persuade her to lie the hell down. I think I hear a muttered "caveman" under her breath, but it only serves to make me kind of proud.

X

It turns out, a night in this insanely comfortable bed makes all the difference: I wake to find Erin's side empty but the smell of eggs and bacon cooking tells me she's okay. I pull on a pair of pajama pants and scan the room for Duke; he's not here, unsurprisingly. I'd rather be hanging out with Erin too.

"Hey," she smiles as I meet her in the kitchen, stretching my arms out in the doorway. She cocks her head to the side and lifts an eyebrow. "Really? You're gonna tempt me like that when you know I can't do a damn thing about it?"

I grin, crossing the room, and pull her into my arms, inhaling the smell of bacon and eggs and _her_. " _I_ can do something about it."

"Oh yeah?"

There's a smirk written across her lips and she's so beautiful like this: mussed hair and relaxed and playful. "Yeah," I lean in to kiss her soft and slow, forgetting the eggs until we smell burning and Erin pulls away much to my disappointment, swatting the smoke. I turn the pan off guiltily and survey the blackened scrambles.

"You'll have to eat those," she scolds. "I used all the eggs."

I just chuckle and manoeuvre myself so she can't see _exactly_ what she does to me, but the knowing look I get renders the action pointless: she already knows.

Erin dishes up the bacon and toast, treating Duke to a sneaky strip of meat when she thinks I'm not looking.

"Can we get a tree?" she asks suddenly. "To decorate? I have a present I want to put under there."

Like I'm going to say no. "We can head into town once we're dressed. There's a hardware store that should have some lights and ornaments and stuff."

She beams, squeezes my knee with her left hand and I catch a glimpse of her bare finger again. "Okay. And maybe we could take Duke for a walk around the lake? Let him run a bit."

"We'll see," I reply, because one good night's sleep does _not_ mean she gets to overdo it.

"Practising your parenting responses," she smiles, taking a bite of toast. "But you so know you're gonna be the pushover."

Not even gonna argue. I can't even say no to my girl, so God only knows what I'm gonna be like with these babies - especially if they look like her. "Eat your breakfast," I instruct instead, and she just smiles wider.

Later, we drive towards town and manage to locate a small farm selling Christmas trees on the way. We pick out a smallish, fat one that Erin thinks will look perfect in front of the living room window and the guy seems to take a liking to us (or Erin, most probably) and offers to drop it off later that afternoon.

We then head to the hardware store to pick up enough fairy lights to decorate a castle, but she's insistent that the room is covered with lights for when we make use of the rug in front of the fireplace. She's got me at that, and I happily spend the next half hour trailing round the store while Erin picks out all of the ornaments I suddenly don't give a shit about, because I just want to go back to the cabin and hole up for days on end. If I don't argue with her choices, we'll get there faster.

Our final stop is the grocery store so we can pick up enough ingredients to last us the week until we head back to Chicago - eggs being high up the priority list evidently. Erin's energy levels start to flag when we're on the aisle housing pasta and rice, and by the time we reach breakfast cereals, I'm ready to just throw anything in the cart so we can pay and I can get her back to the cabin.

She rests against me as the cashier rings up our stuff, smiling as she nods towards Erin's stomach, unable to be covered by her coat.

"Twins?" she asks while scanning the canned tomatoes.

"Yeah," my girl replies, shifting her weight behind me, no doubt to her other foot.

"You know what you're gettin'?"

"Waiting on a surprise," I answer, fingering the redundant zipper on Erin's coat.

"Well you ain't gonna be waiting long," the cashier quips, reaching for the cartons of milk. "Not with a belly hanging _that_ low." She seems to register my immediate panic and laughs. "I've had four. I know what it looks like when you're about to drop."

She says it so casually, like it's nothing, and Erin turns to me, rubbing her hand on my chest, like _I'm_ the one who needs reassuring. Maybe I am. I want to ask how long it's going to be, but Eileen - her nametag tells me - is not a doctor. Screw the groceries, I want to drive us straight back home and to the hospital so we're ready.

"Don't panic honey," she laughs again. "They your first?"

"Yeah."

"Then you have nothin' to worry about. Once they let you know they're comin', they'll keep you waitin' a good while. Spent fifteen hours with my first before the little brute came out screachin'. And he been doin' it ever since."

Somehow, I manage to bag everything up and hand over my credit card, but leaving the store has me feeling kind of shell-shocked. I need my girl to right me again.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," Erin says softly after I've eyed her stomach for the millionth time on the journey back to the cabin.

I scoff. "She's had her fair share of births. I reckon she knows a thing or two."

"Well we're not ready for them yet, so they won't come any time before we're back in Chicago."

I just stare at her while the light stays on red until she folds her arms over her midsection. "Quit looking at me. They're not going to come out right here!"

Ignoring all my instincts to speed us back as quickly as possible, I drive extra slowly, careful not to jostle her over any speed bumps. You know...just in case. I think Erin wants to argue, but she's busy stifling yawns so she stays quiet.

Once we make it back, I linger by her side, much to her annoyance, until she's seated on the couch in front of the fire that needs stoking once I've got the groceries inside. I think we're gonna have to call it quits with these two because I'm pretty certain I'm due a heart attack before this pregnancy is over. I wonder whether I could somehow coerce Will into forcing her on bed rest. Then again, if she found out, she'd probably run a marathon just to spite me: girl _does_ like to prove a point.

X

"No," I say, as sternly as I can when it comes to Erin, which - as it turns out - is apparently not very sternly at all, because she acts like she hasn't heard me. I watch as she tries (and fails) to do up the zipper on her coat, resorting instead to putting on mine. Somehow it dwarves her and yet fits her all at the same time and she looks adorable. I shake some sense into my head and concentrate. "Erin, look at you!"

 _That_ isn't the thing to say. Not at all. "What do you mean, _look at me_?" Her eyes are narrow and it's almost comical. Except it's not.

"Will you _please_ just lie down?"

She huffs. "Jay, I had the nap you insisted I take. I ate the lunch you made me. It's a beautiful day and I just want to walk my dog for a half hour by the lake. I'm not tired now. I'm wide awake." She widens her eyes for emphasis. "See?"

Her words are all flowery but they might as well have been ' _kiss my ass_ ' because she's not going to do as I ask. When has she ever?

"Any pain _anywhere_ and we turn back," I instruct.

"Okay," her voice softens and she does up the zipper on my coat. It just about squeezes the material closed. I only brought the one but I know I packed a thick plaid shirt that should be warm enough in this sun. I grab it and then clip on Duke's leash, which is a hard task when he's bounding about with a wagging tail because Erin's coming with us.

She's right of course - it _is_ a beautiful day. It's warm and still enough - even with the snow on the ground - to walk without being cold, and Erin even has to undo the zipper on my coat. Duke bounds about off his leash once we've assessed his reaction to the lake and his obedience to come when called.

We walk slowly and Erin either hasn't noticed my ploy to be slow enough that we actually don't venture very far from the cabin - that or she doesn't care - but when I ask her for the fifth time whether she's okay, she lets go of my hand and tells me that if I ask again, she's going to ignore me and we can forget all about that rug in front of the fire. I promptly shut up, relink our fingers and kiss each one of her knuckles so I'm back in her good graces and she rests against me as we walk.

"Can we spend all of our Christmases here?" she asks - practically whispers - as we slow almost to a stop: her back is starting to hurt, I can tell. She only rests her hands around the back of her hips when she's in discomfort. Forcing the ' _I knew we shouldn't have walked this far_ ' back down my throat, I kiss her forehead, then her lips.

"Of course."

"We can use the hot tub next year."

I smile against her lips at the fact _that's_ what she's thinking about. "We can."

We stand for a few minutes, just watching the birds duck and dive in the water, Erin's body leaning against mine until she makes this noise - not a moan or sigh, just something that's in between and a little...off.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, just your children practising their soccer skills."

I eye her suspiciously: she hasn't made _that_ noise before. I want her inside. Preferably in bed. I try to be clever with my "We should head back; the tree'll be getting delivered soon," and even though I think she sees through me, she doesn't put up an argument, just nods and calls for Duke.

We make it back to the cabin just before the sky clouds over and the first flurry of snowflakes begins, moments after which, the kind man from the farm on the way into town delivers our stout little tree.

I carry it into the living room without too much trouble, and notice Erin's fallen asleep on the couch already. Duke stays loyally by her side, laying his head on his paws as he watches me wrestle the lights around the tree until I figure it's got enough on to please my girl when she wakes. I leave the ornaments, figuring she'll want a say in what goes where, and decide this would be the perfect opportunity to wrap the present I've got for her.

"Stay," I whisper to the dog, like he'd ever follow me anyway if he didn't think there was a walk involved.

I'm not sure how long I've got, so I'm quick with the wrapping and it's far from my best work. The cardboard of the box is a little worn, but still in decent condition considering you can no longer buy Chuck E Cheese's Pizza Party brand new anymore, and I'd had to get it off of Ebay. Still, I figure she'll love it because she never got a chance to play with the one her mom had gotten her all of those years ago. The thought of that memory - Bunny's boyfriend breaking her only present - still makes my stomach clench, but we're going to love our two so much I figure it just _might_ make up for it.

I've hidden the engagement ring inside of the oven, the diamond glinting in the light just enough that it'll be noticeable on her finger but not too much that it'll be showy. When I saw it in the window of the jewellery store, there wasn't even a question about whether or not she'd like it: it's Erin all over.

"Jay?" I hear her panicked voice question, and I race into the living room, forgetting all about the present.

I do a quick scan of her body and find nothing alarming, other than the expression on her face, but I'm resting a hand atop of her stomach and another on her cheek before I even realise it.

"What's wrong? Is it the babies? Are you hurting?"

"I…" I see tears form in her eyes. "I didn't know where I was. I didn't know where _you_ were."

I'm never leaving her again. "I was…" I kind of don't want to tell her what I was doing, but I can also see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she catches her breath.

"You haven't left me since we've been here," she continues. "Not without me knowing."

I'm so, so stupid. "I won't leave you." I promise, lifting her so I can wrap my arms around her as best I can. To _comfort_ her in the only way I can.

"You just…" a tear slides from one eye and I catch it with my lips; kiss the skin beneath. "You gotta tell me first. So I know."

"Was trying to be sneaky," I say with a forced smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Wrap your Christmas present while you were asleep."

"It scares me sometimes," she whispers. " _All_ the time."

"What does?"

"How much I love you. How I'd feel if you weren't here."

It hits me, there and then: she's not ready for the ring. Until she knows I'm always going to be here, _really knows_ I'm always going to be here. Until she's sure of herself, of her place in my life and not just as the mother of my children.

"You understand then," I say, nudging her nose with mine, sealing my lips over hers, dancing my fingertips across her stomach, "why I worry about you; why I want you to rest. 'Cause I feel the same."

I let my forehead rest against hers and we stay like that for a while, just breathing each other in, making sure we _both_ know we're here; we're okay.

"You put the lights on the tree," Erin says later.

"Lots of lights. That enough for you?"

"Looks pretty perfect," she smiles. "Where are the ornaments?"

"Thought you might wanna help with those. Or at least lay there and instruct me on where to put them."

Her smile widens. The dimples are back. "Start with the gold ones," she instructs. "I got a pretty good view from here."

X

I wake some time in the middle of the night judging by the darkness, and inhale deeply, expecting to get the familiar scent of Erin's vanilla shampoo accompanying her stray strands of hair that always tickle my face, but I don't. I squint in the blackness, trying to make out the digits on my phone: 01:12. Only after do I notice the bathroom light filtering under the door, and pull back the sheets to see if Erin's okay.

Knocking lightly on the door, I push it open to find Duke sitting beside her feet, while Erin rests her hands on the counter, breathing deep enough to send a panicked flare up my spine.

"I think," she says, lifting her head, "that something's happening."

The world suddenly tilts so far so fast that I feel dizzy. Something's happening and we're not in Chicago. We're not where we're supposed to be. It's too early. "You okay?" she asks, and I realise I haven't said anything.

"I...are _you_ okay? How long have you been up?"

She glances at her phone on the counter next to her. "Just over an hour."

"Jesus Erin! You should have woken me!"

"I didn't know if it was anything or not and I didn't want to worry you."

"Well we've gotta go to the hospital. Get you checked out."

When she nods, somehow my panic rating manages to up itself further because I know my girl, and if she _really_ didn't think it was anything, she'd say we were staying here.

"I didn't bring the bag," she says suddenly.

"What bag?"

"The one we packed in case."

That's the least of my worries. "It doesn't matter. We'll be okay without it." It's kind of a lie. I'm freaking the fuck out, and now somehow, I've got to get her to the hospital in one piece.

She lets me help her out of the bathroom and doesn't even roll her eyes when I hover while she pulls my coat on over her pajamas, which consist of my t-shirt and a pair of her old jersey shorts that sit way lower on her waist than they're supposed to. She waits on the bed while I frantically pull on a pair of jeans and a shirt, not even stopping to put my socks on properly. I must look ridiculous but I don't care.

Right as I'm pulling my thick plaid overshirt around my shoulders, I hear Erin suck in a breath and breath it out slowly, her eyes closed as she concentrates. I don't think I was prepared for how I'm going to feel during this - how hard it's going to be to watch her in pain. She lets me rub her back, sighing a little as I press my thumbs into the muscles at her sacrum.

"I'm good," she reassures, reaching round to me with her fingers and I don't know how she's being this calm when I feel like my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. Rising from the bed, she clutches my hand and we walk slowly to the door, almost missing Duke.

"C'mon boy," she says softly, holding out her free hand for him to go to her. He does and I frown.

"We can't take him with us to the hospital Erin."

"Well we can't leave him here."

"I'll leave him some food; he'll be okay."

"No," she says, more sternly. "He can stay in the car, and you can keep checking on him. That way we'll know if he's alright. Bring some food for him."

I'd argue but there's no point. She'll win anyway, and it'll only delay getting to the hospital, so reluctantly, I leave her side and gather Duke's bowl, a few bottles of water and his biscuits. Finally, Erin lets me lead her to the car.

X

I've lost count of how many doctors and nurses have told me to relax. It's starting to piss me off because I have no idea how I'm expected to do that when Erin is lying in a hospital bed, three weeks too early and clearly in pain. Our midwife Sandy or Sophie or Suzie for all I know, is trying to explain how twins often come early, that three weeks ahead of schedule is nothing to worry about but all the time, I'm watching Erin's face as she breathes through each contraction, feeling her grip tighten with each wave of pain and loosen when it finally ebbs.

I'm pretty sure this is my own personal brand of torture.

They've examined her - not gently enough - and told us she's only two centimetres dilated, so we've got a bit to go yet. The babies' heart rate is strong (probably stronger than mine at this stage) and so is Erin's but the constant beeping and the screams I can hear from down the hall are making me dizzy.

Once we're alone, after the barrage of examinations and monitoring and talking the doctors have done, she shifts across the bed so I can sit beside her. I'd refuse, tell her I'm fine on this chair but I'm not. I can't get close enough.

"Jay," she all but hums, stroking her fingers down my arm in a gesture that calms me more than it has a right to. "I'm okay."

"It's hurting you," I reply, pissed that I can't take it away, can't go through it for her.

"It's not the worst pain I've felt," she answers softly, with a one-sided smile. I know she's talking about last year: the baby she lost; the withdrawals; the cracked ribs and God only knows what other injuries she'd gotten from men who dared put their hands on her. I squeeze her hand and rest my lips against her temple.

"You know how much I love you, Erin Lindsay?" I whisper, using my left hand to stroke her hair before she sucks in a breath and lets out a small wince. It's the first time she's really let on how much pain she must be in. My insides clench as her grip on my fingers tightens.

"Keep talking to me," she grits out. "Tell me anything. Even if it's stupid."

It takes a while to form any semblance of a word, let alone a coherent sentence, especially when she hisses, a soft squeak escaping her lips.

"I got shot by an arrow once," I say. "In the ass."

There's the smallest hint of a laugh, though her eyes are still closed tight.

"Will and I were playing cowboys and Indians at the cabin, and my mom told us not to play with my uncle's archery stuff, but we didn't listen. Ended up that my dad had to pull it out and rather than getting any sympathy, I was grounded for the day with my brother. We gotta watch these two," I say, resting a hand on her stomach and rubbing gently. I don't know if it helps, but Erin doesn't tell me to stop, so I keep it there. "Make sure they don't get up to the kind of stuff Will and I did."

"What else?" she manages "Tell me something else you did."

"We used to pull pranks on our parents all the time. Switch sugar for salt; put worms in the stuff we didn't wanna eat, like the oatmeal."

At that she laughs, and I'm willing to tell her anything if it'll help block out the pain.

"It reached a head when we booby-trapped the house. We'd watched Home Alone, and thought it would be so cool if we got to do that, but obviously we didn't wanna have to be burgled to do it, so we waited until our parents were outside one afternoon, and got to work. My dad was so pissed; we got grounded for like a month for that one."

I feel Erin's grip on my hand loosen, signalling the end of the contraction, and I press my lips to her forehead. "You good?"

"Yeah," she nods. "Thank you." She plays with my fingers absent-mindedly before speaking again. "I hope they have that bond. The kind where they wanna join forces against us."

I chuckle. "Really? I'm not sure I want the apartment booby-trapped."

"It'd be fun though," she muses. "Seeing how they try and play us."

"If you say so," I concede, but smile because she's rarely talked like this while she's been pregnant, almost as if she's afraid to imagine how happy we're going to be.

We're interrupted by another contraction, one that actually makes her cry out and I try and help her through it, but panic gets the better of me and I call for a nurse because I _need_ them to do for her what I can't.

Turns out, it's the start of something they stupidly call _active labour_ , as if what Erin's been going through is a stroll in the park. From that moment, it all happens so fast. I'm being moved off of the bed by a nurse, except Erin won't let go of my hand and so I'm half-perched, half-hanging off the edge, pressing kisses against her damp skin like they're going to help. And yet, she's leaning into me; watching my face as I urge her on, the words tumbling out of my mouth somehow in quick succession: promises she can do this; that I'm so proud of her; that she's amazing. Because she can. She is.

And when the midwife instructs her to push, she waits for me to repeat it to her, confirming that's what she needs to do, and she does it - skin slick with sweat, waves of hair tumbling out of the band they've been tied in as she bares down and pushes our children into the world.

There's so much noise: the beeping, Erin's cries, my heart thumping in my ears, the doctors' instructions until suddenly, there's silence. Just for a moment.

The world stops. Literally halts its spinning for everyone but me as I watch the tiny little creature be placed on Erin's chest, stretching its arms out into the world for the first time, like it's just feeling the air; grasping at it with tiny fingers.

And then it comes back all at once: all the noise and the thumping of my heart - even more now, if it's possible - because they're telling us we have a son. A son that's half me and half Erin and so completely and utterly _perfect_ that I can't breathe.

My face is wet. I don't know if it's Erin's sweat or tears or my sweat or tears, or some sort of combination of all of that, but my lips are trembling as I thank her over and over and over, and yet no matter how many times I say it, it'll never be enough.

The doctors take him away to clean him up, placing him in some scales to see how big Erin's grown him, see how long he is. I don't even hear the measurements. He's perfect. That's all we need to know.

They deliver him back to us swaddled in white with a blue striped hat and my heart just about gives out at the sight of my girl holding our son. I watch as she kisses his nose and forehead, each of his cheeks and his fingers until her whole body is shaking with sobs because she can't believe she's done this: created something so _good_. All the while, he just stays quiet, like he's appraising us as his parents, watching to see what we're going to do.

Erin hands him to me, looks me square in the eye before lifting her chin for my lips. I take our son and seal my lips over hers, trying to pour my thanks into the kiss, only I'll never be able to do it enough to let her know the kind of feelings she's made me feel.

And then, like a strike of lightning, it all starts up again. Only this time, one of my arms is taken. I can't hold her properly, because I'm holding our son. Suddenly, fear strikes again, tearing at me with thoughts that I can't possibly be enough for the both of them. I can't even _hold_ both of them at the same time.

"I'm tired, Jay," Erin whimpers, her words stabbing my heart because I know she is: she's so, so tired and I can't make it any better.

"I know baby." I take her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips. "I know, but you can do this. And you were right: you said boys, remember? You were right. You're always right. Just a little more."

It is only a little more. Five and a half more minutes to be precise. And then I think my heart _does_ give out. Because we have a daughter. A tiny little princess that I already know has me wrapped around her little finger.

She's red and loud: angry that she's out in the world instead of snug inside Erin. She protests at the scales, at the blanket the doctors are trying to swaddle her in, at anybody manhandling her until she's finally handed to her mom. Only then does she stop screaming.

And good _lord_ she has dimples. Of course she does, because Erin made her.

She stirs and squirms in her blanket cocoon as the doctors and nurses busy themselves around Erin, poking and prodding and I just want to tell them to leave her alone - she's just brought two children into the world - but she doesn't seem to mind or even notice.

"They're perfect, Jay," she whispers in awe, once we're finally on our own.

"Of course they are," I manage to choke out, shifting so I'm back on the edge of her bed. "You made them. And you did so good Erin." I think I might be crying again. I don't even care. "So, _so_ good."

Some time passes. I don't know how much. I don't care.

"These babies got names yet?" Somebody asks. I think the words come from the midwife who's just entered the room, but she has to repeat them before I know for sure.

"Noah and Olivia," I announce with a smile, and Erin snuggles against me, adding her own information,

"Halstead. Noah and Olivia Halstead."

Who knew giving someone else your name could feel like this?

Her eyes are soft as she looks up at me, waiting for my lips. My thanks. I give her them willingly, pouring everything I have into her mouth but it's not enough; it's not going to _be_ enough but I'm going to spend my life trying to give her what she deserves.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N - Here it is - the final chapter! Thank you so much for all of the reviews, private comments and favourites over the course of this story. I've had a great time writing it and I really hope you enjoy this epilogue.**

 **A final review would be lovely ;) x**

* * *

Let Me Love You

I wake up to giggling, and it's the best sound.

I stretch my arms lazily, my bare skin finding soft, cool sheets, and not the warmth of Erin's skin - not that I often wake up to that these days. It's funny how things change, how two tiny human beings can bring this huge assault on your life, until you aren't even sure how or why it hasn't always been the way it is now. I lift my head to see if I can detect the smell of coffee, then smile when I can't. _Some_ things never change, after all.

I forgo putting on a t-shirt: sometimes Erin prefers me covered up so she won't get distracted amidst making oatmeal and mopping up orange juice spillages, but sometimes she likes to look. Either way, I get the ego boost, so it doesn't matter to me.

I follow the noise downstairs where I know she's trying in vain to shush our happy little duo "so daddy can sleep" but after everything, we both know I'd gladly wake to the three of them making all kinds of noise any day of the week.

" _This apartment is too small."_

 _I turn my head to my girl, who's staring around the living room at the chaos of gifts we've received like she's in an alien environment. I resist the 'I told you so' that rises in my throat, and the eyeroll that's threatening at any moment, and simply nod._

" _Yeah."_

" _You think that house in Edison Park is still for sale?"_

" _I thought you wanted to stay here? Feel safe?"_

 _She shrugs, trying - I think - to appear nonchalant. "I felt safe in Wisconsin. And it's not about me anymore. If you're there…"_

 _I wrap my arms around her, careful not to squeeze too tight, not to hurt her when she's still sore. "I'm always gonna be where you are."_

 _Erin nods like she finally believes me, and that's when the tears come. They come often now, and I try not to freak out too much, try not to over-analyse what she might be thinking or feeling because it's just the hormones, the doctor had said. And she's got them running around all over: she's just had two babies after all._

" _I should tidy up," she says, pulling back after a while. "It's a real mess in here."_

 _It_ is _a mess. But I don't want her anywhere but my arms. "Leave it, for now," I say. "Come lie down with me."_

" _Jay…"_

" _Hey," I brush my lips over her forehead. "We don't get chance for this much anymore."_

 _I feel her smile against my neck as her eyelids flutter closed. She hums somewhat lazily in agreement because yeah, we've been home for three days, and I can count the number of kisses I've given her on one hand. It's not enough: our children really,_ really _don't like sleeping._

 _Erin lets me tug her gently onto the couch, settling herself so that she can lie between my legs to rest her head on my chest, her body twisted so that the pressure's taken off of her stomach. It's only a few minutes before I hear her breathing even out, the gentle rise and fall of her chest signalling she's finally given in to the tiredness she's been feeling. I smile and dance my fingers across her skin, smoothing her hair back off of her face so it isn't obscured from my view._

 _Her nap lasts all of ten minutes before muffled cries filter down the hallway and she wakes, up and off of the couch before I've even fully-registered the noise._

" _Go lay back down," I tell her. "I'll get them."_

 _She just shakes her head with a smile. "I_ want _to go."_

 _I watch her disappear down the hallway before I pull myself up too and follow._

The memory of why we chose this house makes me grin, and I reach the bottom of the stairs to find Duke wagging his tail, dressed in a superman cape with Olivia 'teaching' him how to fly, and Noah - always the safe one - making sure he 'doesn't fall'. Dog's even more whipped than I am when it comes to the people in this room. I'm pretty sure he'll willingly let them do anything.

"Sounds like you're having fun in here," I chuckle, crossing to where Erin sits, watching our kids like she can't believe we've created this, to plant my lips on hers. My first kiss of the day will always be for her.

"Duke's a superdog daddy," Noah tells me, clutching one of his paws in his hand.

I offer a 'hmm,' because I'm not so sure - he may love my girl and my kids but he's chewed through three pairs of my bootlaces this month.

"He let me put a cape on him," Olivia announces, hopping up from the floor to fling herself at me so I can toss her in the air and kiss her when she lands back in my arms. Once I've set her down, I do the same for Noah, and then wander to the kitchen to flick on the coffee.

Erin follows, raising an eyebrow. "You just trying to get me all flustered when you do that?"

"Do what?" I ask, stifling the grin that's biting at my lips.

"The shirtless hot dad thing."

"It's a _thing_?"

She presses herself into me deliberately slowly, lowering her voice so that it's laced with lust, "Uh huh."

"And is it working?" My lips meet hers, creating a seal that she lets a soft moan into.

"Uh huh," she manages again, nodding and opening her mouth wider for my tongue.

It's easy to forget sometimes, how quickly we can get carried away. Inevitably, Olivia and Noah run to us, pleading for Fruit Loops because it's the weekend, and generally working their almost 100% Erin magic on me until I've caved, peeled myself off of their mom and agreed to take them to the park too.

I think somewhere, I hear Duke make a noise that equates to 'pushover' but I ignore it with a smile because how am I supposed to do anything else? Erin just smiles, tugs her dressing gown a little tighter round her waist and sends me the most tempting smirk she can.

X

Later, once everyone is warm and dry and full of hot chocolate, the kids' soaked snow coats drying on the radiators, we settle in the living room with Duke resuming his place in front of the fire to block some of the heat.

There's some terrible kids movie playing on the tv, the volume low enough that the slapstick comedy my babies find so amusing doesn't violate my ears as they chuckle to themselves in that half-asleep way I love to watch. I've got one couch; Erin and the kids have the other.

I'm the go-to for a push on the swings; to catch them at the bottom of the slide; a hoist upwards so they can walk along the top of a wall while holding my hand, but lazy evening snuggles before bed? That's always, _always_ Erin.

She's lying on her back, Noah snuggled into her left side, halfway across her chest and Olivia on her right. She has an arm around each of them to stop them falling and I'm pretty sure she must be uncomfortable like that because she hasn't picked the biggest couch either, but the look on her face tells me it doesn't matter. Her eyes are closed and she's breathing them in - that scent they have that's so uniquely _them_ : the one people tell you about right before you have a baby but you can't even imagine it until you experience it for yourself.

Everytime I look at her like this, I spend so long contemplating whether this is how I should ask her to marry me: with our children draped across her, so safe and happy and loved, with the fire spitting and hissing and Duke lying in guard, just in case. But then I think about how it's all planned in my head - the words I need to say to her in front of that Sleeping Beauty castle where she's always dreamed of going - and I stop myself and just enjoy watching her.

" _How could she do it Jay?" Erin chokes in a whisper. I turn my head as best I can with a sleeping baby girl on my chest and catch her tears with my thumb. "Why didn't she feel like this about me?"_

 _I watch her eyes as she glances down at our son, dozing peacefully on_ her _chest in the white onesie she'd dressed him in earlier. Sometimes, I think it catches her off guard: how much she loves our children. I think maybe she hadn't realised what it would be like, hadn't prepared herself to be so consumed by love that she feels she'll burst._

" _I don't know baby," I sigh. I don't fob her off with potential excuses anymore, not when it concerns why Bunny never loved her properly. I can't think of even_ one _reason._

 _As if he knows what his mom needs, Noah squirms a little, trying to burrow his little face into her chest, his tiny fingers twitching against her skin. Erin soothes him back to stillness with a light hand on his back, rubbing circles so he doesn't wake. It's natural - the way she is with them. Always being what they need without even realising._

" _I'll get over it," she says, more to herself - I think - than to me._

" _You don't have to. Just…" I find her free hand and lace her fingers with mine, "know that these two won't ever feel like that. And that'll be because of you."_

"What're you thinkin' about?" she asks quietly, craning her neck so she can see my face.

"The cabin," I lie. "How big our tree's gonna be this year."

She grins. "Big. Bigger than last year."

"Size matter to you?"

There's a smirk. A lift of an eyebrow. "Oh definitely."

Shooting a wink, I rest my hands behind my head and go silently through my mental list of what I'll need to pack for the trip. Erin's never been good at packing, and all the stuff we need for our yearly family Christmas in Wisconsin is my responsibility, but trying to gather it all when actually, you're secretly flying to Disneyland the next day is proving difficult.

Noah and Olivia though, remarkably, have been a great help in hiding their summer clothes we'll need in toyboxes and under their respective beds. Turns out that the 1% of DNA they have that isn't Erin's is all Halstead intelligence. Makes me insanely proud.

"Bed time," I say and the usual protests utilised by my dark-haired blue-eyed dimpled duo cease to come. They really have held up their end of the bargain in keeping this trip a surprise for Erin.

She makes to lift them off her but I'm by her side quick enough to gather them both in my arms. "Stay here," I offer a kiss. "I'll read the story tonight."

" _Read_?" she asks knowingly, and yeah I'm busted, because Erin does the reading. I prefer to tell them stories about the bad guys daddy's caught at work, which they love but Erin thinks will freak them out.

It's the one thing I overrule her on.

X

Unusually, as we enter the district the following morning, Platt isn't at her desk. We're met instead by Ruzek, to whom Noah and Olivia fling themselves at immediately.

"Hey you two!" He hoists them up into the air - one in each arm - and sits them atop of each shoulder. "You know what we got?"

"No?" Olivia questions, always the one to speak first.

"New candy in the vending machine. Wanna see?"

There's an obvious answer to that question that both Erin and I roll our eyes at, and I lead Duke up to the pen while the rest of my family hunt down some sugary snacks.

I find everyone else up there, filling in paperwork it looks like.

"Where are those babies?" Platt asks in reference to my children who are currently destroying their teeth.

"With Ruzek."

She raises an eyebrow and I laugh but really, he's great with them and he's _definitely_ their favourite. I suppose it's easy to win the hearts of two four-year-olds if you give them free reign of the vending machine.

"Erin?"

"Supervising."

Platt laughs this time and even though over the past four years - especially since my two have been around - the sound has become less alien, it's still a little weird.

"I just came to see Voight."

She nods towards his office but he's making his way out of there anyway.

"What? You came to see me without the kids or Erin?"

Seriously? I'm not even a consolation prize in this place. If it's not Noah or Olivia or Erin, nobody wants to know. "They're downstairs with Ruzek. Just came to give you the key for the house. And drop off the dog."

"And she still doesn't know it's Disneyland?"

"Not a clue," I grin. We've just got to get through karate later this morning and then we can head to O'Hare. There's a big fat ice cream waiting for each of my two if they manage it and the way they feel about the stuff, I don't think they're gonna give up the game now.

"Where's Duke?" Erin asks when I locate her and my now-hyped-on-sugar children.

"I'm gonna leave him here while I drop you guys off at karate; there's some paperwork they need me to have a look over."

Lying to her never feels good, but it's all for a good outcome. "Oh," is all she says, because we're well past the point of her thinking there's an ulterior motive for my actions.

"Come on, we gotta get going." I raise my eyebrows at Noah who nods in understanding and then we say our goodbyes to Ruzek. He's in on the secret too.

I drop the three of them off in the parking lot, watch as they head inside and then turn the car around so I can pick up the suitcases from home.

X

Trunk filled and ready to go, I make my way inside of the building and head up to the first floor where my kids are having a blast. The room they train in has windows all around the sides so that parents can watch and I spot Erin across from me. She's watching our two intently and I look on as my baby girl flips one of the little boys in her class, beaming with pride as she offers a hand out to help him up. Dimples on display and everything, she gives her mom a wave and I make my way around to stand with her so we can watch them together. I love that this is the only thing we've ever really pushed the two of them to do, and they love it. I press a kiss to Erin's temple as I reach her and she shifts her weight so she's resting against me as Olivia flips another kid and I start to wonder whether any of the other parents are getting a little antsy. Thing is, my baby girl will keep flipping until we force her to leave but then she'll drop her karategi at the door, demand either Erin or I put a sparkly pink bow in her hair and pirouette her way across the parking lot so we can head to her ballet class. Demanding and beautiful: Kid's all Erin.

"He's so focused," Erin's raspy voice sighs proudly as she nods towards our son, who's standing off to the side practising his kicks. If Olivia has me wrapped around her little finger, then Noah's undoubtedly a momma's boy. He's quiet and thoughtful and sensitive but the other day, some kid in their class pushed Liv off one of the swings and we got called in by the teacher because he hit said kid in the face because, and to quote my little dude directly, "there's no restorative justice here."

When we got home and our two were bathed and in bed asleep, Erin smacked me across the chest because she said she could tell from the smirk on my face during the discussion that I was proud. Damn right. And not just because he knows what restorative justice means. If my son's got my baby girl's back then I'm doing my job. I am, however, pretty sure that she'll fight her own battles. That beautiful pout's gonna win her a hell of a lot of arguments and if it doesn't, she can just flip someone. My smile grows wider.

The class ends and the kids come pouring out to their parents - Olivia leading the group as she flings herself at Erin, asking no end of questions about whether she'd seen her kick or block or flip, and of course, she answers an "I did, and you were amazing," to each and every one. I scan the crowd for Noah and then see him still inside, helping his sensei tidy up. I smile, kiss both of my girls and head in to remind him where we're going after this, hoping that Olivia hasn't forgotten either; ballet's taking a back seat today. Entrusting your four-year-olds with a secret this big is a huge ask but they've been amazing and every time Erin's mentioned Christmas at the cabin, they've both nodded as they've been told to, waiting until her back's been turned to grin megawatt smiles at me. As much as they're excited to see all of their favourite characters and ride Thunder Mountain, I think they're more excited to see what their mom makes of the surprise. _Surprises_.

"You ready bud?" I ask, hoisting Noah up so he sits on top of my shoulders. "Big trip ahead."

"I'm ready."

"You sure?" I frown at his tone. "Something up?"

"I'm worried about the plane," his replies, and I lift him back off of me so I can look him in the eye. "What if it crashes?"

Always so safety conscious. Wonder where he got _that_ from? "Hey, it's gonna be fine. I'm gonna be there - and your mom - and we never let anything bad happen to you, right?"

"Right," he nods, pursing his lips so the evidence of Erin's genes show in his dimples.

"And your mom hasn't been on a plane before either," I tell him. "So between me and you, we've gotta make sure the girls are alright."

At that, Noah holds himself a little straighter, because if there's anything that motivates him, it's being the 'little man of the house' for his mom and sister. "Okay daddy."

"Thank you bud." I set him down and nod to his sensei. "We good?"

"We're good."

Olivia wriggles out of Erin's arms excitedly - knowing it's not long before they're allowed to tell her where we're going. As soon as she asks why we're going the wrong way, I've told our babies they can tell her.

They don't know about the ring though. That's just for me.

"Where's the dog?" Erin asks as we buckle the kids into their sets. Their grins grow: they know it's not going to be long before she asks where we're going.

"Voight's borrowing him."

"He's _what_?"

"He needs him while we're on our trip."

I shut the door and Erin does the same, all confused. "We _are_ still going on our trip, right?"

I hear Olivia's intake of breath, because the words are so close to the ones she knows she can answer, but they're not quite right. I see Noah place a hand on her knee to shush her, and grin.

"Jay?" she asks again as we turn out of the parking lot and head in the opposite direction we should. "Why are we going this way?"

And it's like a dam bursting. There's so much noise all at once that I'm not even sure Erin hears our kids tell her we're flying to Florida. But then, she must, because she's looking at me all teary-eyed and questioning.

"Really," I laugh, squeezing her leg. "Call it your Christmas surprise."

"Aren't you happy mommy?" Olivia asks, noting Erin's tears.

"Baby, I'm _so_ happy," she says, turning her head so she can look at our two, proud as punch that they've managed to keep the secret this long.

"Oh good," our baby girl decides, satisfied. "I thought you didn't want to see the princesses."

When she turns to look back at me, Erin mouths an _I love you_ as she covers my hand with hers.

X

Disneyland is an assault on every sense. By the end of the first day, I'm exhausted from the heat and the noise, from constantly checking Noah and Olivia are standing by our sides at all times, until I give up and hoist both of them up into my arms where I know they're safe. I'm more exhausted though, from the burning knowledge that Erin's ring is in my pocket and I have to somehow find words to fit how much I love her. There aren't any, I don't think; none good enough anyway.

The kids are sleepy while we watch the fireworks, Noah leaning against my shoulder, Olivia in Erin's arms with her Minnie ears headband poking her in the neck. Not once does she complain or try to move her though - instead, just smoothes down her dark waves of hair so it doesn't tumble around her eyes.

The fireworks end and my heartbeat ramps up about a thousand notches. The crowd starts to disperse and I look at Noah's face, then Olivia's. She's almost fully-asleep, but my little dude looks awake enough to be able to stand, which is good because I'm not sure I can get down on one knee with him in my arms.

I know I'm not gonna get it so that the only people here are us, so when it's quiet enough that she can hear me, I tell her I want to show her something.

"She's really tired Jay," Erin replies, motioning to our baby girl sleeping in her arms.

"I just…" I start to get hot and flustered, and she narrows her eyes at me.

"You okay?"

"Yeah just…" _Christ_ my hands are sweating. "Can you step down bud?" I ask Noah quietly, and he obliges, as much as I think he'd rather stay in my arms. "I uh...I wanted to do a big speech," I tell Erin, "but there aren't the right words. I don't mean I can't think of them, I just mean they don't exist." I frown, because I'm really, _really_ not doing a good job of this. "I love you, so much. And God Erin, I just want to marry you."

So it's not the romantic speech I wanted to give, but when I finally manage to pull the ring out of my pocket and sink down onto one knee, she's already nodding.

"Will you?" I ask. "Marry me?"

At that moment, Olivia chooses to wake up, turns her head out of Erin's neck and sees me holding the ring.

"Say yes, mommy," she instructs sleepily, "so I can have a princess dress at your wedding."

We both laugh and Erin kisses her forehead, nodding vehemently at me. "Yes. _God_ yes."

I slip the ring onto her finger and it looks as beautiful as I knew it would, scooping Noah back into my arms because the little man looks seriously like he's flagging. Olivia's nodded back off too, but Erin's just staring at me, unmoving.

And that's when the tears come, when I kiss her, our two babies sleeping between us as she cups my jaw with her left hand, the coolness of the metal striking against the warmth of her skin.

"You've given me the best life Jay," she says breathlessly. There are tears cascading down her cheeks but she looks absolutely beautiful. She whispers the next bit. "Like a fairytale."

We got to bed later and she lets me take everything off. Everything but her ring, because now it's on that finger, it's going to stay there.

Forever.

* * *

 **A/N - And we're done! 20 chapter all wrapped up in fluff ;)**

 **If** **you want more Linstead from me, check out my new multi-chapter fic that I've just published today: Dangerous Love.**

 **Shameless plug for a Flaurel fic I've written too - if any of you are into that tragically under-loved couple. (It's called It'll Be Better)**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, and please hit that little review button to tell me what you thought x**


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